He threw back his head like a swimmer tossing spray from his locks.
'You have read the paper?' he asked.
'You have horsewhipped the writer?' she rejoined.
'Oh! the poor penster!'
'Nay, we can't pretend to pity him!'
'Could we condescend to offer him satisfaction?'
'Would he dare to demand it?'
'We will lay the case before Lady Wilts to-night.'
'You are there to-night?'
'At Lady Denewdney's to-morrow night—if I may indulge a hope?'