I think I
stood still there for about five minutes, until I was nearly run down
by one of those beastly Neapolitan caleches loaded with twenty or
thirty natives."
"See here, old man, what a confoundedly good memory you have! You
remember no end of a lot of things, and give all her speeches
verbatim. What a capital newspaper reporter you'd make!"
"Oh, it's only _her_ words, you know. She quickens my memory, and
makes a different man of me."
"By Jove!"
"Yes, old chap, a different man altogether."
"So I say, by Jove! Head turned, eyes distorted, heart generally
upset, circulation brought up to fever point, peace of mind gone, and
a general mania in the place of the old self-reliance and content."
"Not content, old boy; I never had much of that."
"Well, we won't argue, will we? But as to the child-angel--what next?
You'll call again?"
"Of course."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Strike while the iron is hot, hey? Well, old man, I'll stand by you.
Still I wish you could find out who her people are, just to satisfy a
legitimate curiosity."
"Well, I don't know the Fays, but Lady Dalrymple is her aunt; and I
know, too, that she is a niece of Sir Gilbert Biggs."
"What!" cried Hawbury, starting. "Who? Sir what?"
"Sir Gilbert Biggs."
"Sir Gilbert Biggs?"
"Yes."
"Sir Gilbert Biggs! By Jove! Are you sure you are right? Come, now.
Isn't there some mistake?"
"Not a bit of a mistake; she's a niece of Sir Gilbert. I remember
that, because the name is a familiar one.
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