Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. “Because I hate you!” She spat. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. ” She said. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. "Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames.
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