Lay out my books, fetch a bottle of Canary, and give me my Sunday coat.

Put flowers on the table, and a dish of bonchretiens, and get on your tabby gown.

Make your curtsy at the door; then leave him to me." "And Audrey ?" said his wife.
Darden, about to rise, sank back again and sat still, a hand upon either arm of his chair.

"Eh!" he said; then, in a meditative tone, "That is so,--there is Audrey." "If he has eyes, he'll see that for himself," retorted Mistress Deborah tartly.

"'More to the purpose,' he'll say, 'where is the money that I gave you for her ?'" "Why, it's gone," answered Darden "Gone in maintenance,--gone in meat and drink and raiment.