Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. . The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. What of it?” There was a shout of laughter. 5. Wood could stand it no longer. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own," he added, mentally.
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