line of business, and was not available for purposes of trespass.

But my aunt wouldn’t hear of it.

Supper was comfortably served and hot, though my aunt’s rooms were very high up — whether that she might have more stone stairs for her money, or might be nearer to the door in the roof, I don’t know — and consisted of a roast fowl, a steak, and some vegetables, to all of which I did ample justice, and which were all excellent. But my aunt had her own ideas concerning London provision, and ate but little.

‘I suppose this unfortunate fowl was born and brought up in a cellar,’ said my aunt, ‘and never took the air except on a hackney coach-stand.

I hope the steak may be beef, but I don’t