‘But you are idiot. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. I don’t know why that should be so acutely humiliating. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a reigning monarch:—the cry of the populace almost universally being, "No King George, but a Stuart!" The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were lavish in promises to their proselytes.
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