Yet once more the sneering voice of Wilson broke in.
"A strange land, my friend," said he, "monstrous strange.

Your unicorns are great, and your women are little.

Methinks to give thy tale proportion thou shouldst have shown shoon somewhat larger." "Peace! Beau," said Castleton, quickly.

"As for the size of the human foot--gad! I'll lay a roll of louis d'or that there's one dame here in London town can wear this slipper of New France." "Done!" cried Wilson.

"Name the one." "None other than the pretty Lawrence whom thou hast had under thine ancient wing for the past two seasons." The face of Wilson gathered into a sudden frown at this speech.