It was no marriage at all. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. “Do you know him?” Lucy replied, “No, I haven’t met him. But the orchestra had never had a finer hour, and everyone was aware of it. Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. “And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such another enigma in her sex.
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