The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. “Yes. "I should be perfectly miserable if I thought you in earnest. " Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried. " "Ah!" shrieked Lady Trafford. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years.
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