"Confusion!" cried he; "there is another boat in our wake. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. " Prudence shrugged. With a well-simulated unconcern and a heightened color she finished her breakfast. " CHAPTER VI.
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