But I believe that Mr. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. “I don’t know. Chapter XVII THE CHANGE IN “ALCIDE” “By-the-bye,” his neighbour asked him languidly, “who is our hostess?” “Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison answered, “unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong house. During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. “It jars. I'm not interested in him. “Very well,” he said.
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