At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. 276 He opened the box. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room.
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