She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it. “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. Don’t be frightened, dear. "Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable.
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