" "My wealth," replied Mrs. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. A small handgun bobbed at the end of it, aimed at Sheila.
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