As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. “I have come for an explanation,” she said. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all. "Close the court, Mr.
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