"Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. Then it was the woman herself who was changed. Nothing is wrong that you do. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. ‘Oh, the Frenchie.
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