Nay, nay, none of your parting ogles--will you go?
"MORE.

Yes, and I hope for ever.
[_Exit_ SIR CHARLES _pulling away_ LORD MORELOVE." [Footnote A: Here is the way in which several of our refined farcical writers would have given it: MORELOVE.

Let me speak to her now, or I shall burst.
SIR CHARLES.

Upon condition that you'll not burst here, in the parlour, do as you please.] * * * * * There is about this and many other scenes the fragrance of an old perfume, as of lavender.

We take up the book after years of neglect, and the odour, which is not that of sanctity, is still perceptible--a potent reminder of the past.