Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. “Come this way,” he said. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. She caught at the idea.
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