"That's fine," said O'Higgins. "Do you hear me?" cried the lady, with increasing vehemence. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy.
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