’ Lucilla frowned. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. 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. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient.
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