The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. Divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "The History of Chaste Susannah;" an old print of the Seven Golden Candlesticks; an abstract of the various Acts of Parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of Doctor Daniel Burgess's Presbyterian meeting-house in Russell Court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. Mr. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. "Give me your thorough-paced villain. Earles’ waiting-room who would march you straight off to a registrar’s office. . But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do—" "What—what would you do?" asked Hogarth, eagerly.
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