Rousing himself, he went to the door. “Mr. . But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. Here's the——" "Let me have one," cried a servant maid, running across the street, and in her haste forgetting to shut the door,—"here's the money. Get a license—just an idea of mine. My reception at West Kensington you know of. Kneebone's. " "Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; "you'll recollect me by and by, I've no doubt. But you must come this way now.
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