"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. ‘Madame, I trust I see you well?’ ‘Merci.
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