His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. She felt that she became more familiar with the floor during the time that he stayed than with any particular person. I spent many happy days there. Instantly I knew that I was going to run away that night before he returned from the neighbouring island. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance.
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