"Who—who was she?"
"A wictim o' wiciousness, sir."
"What in the world do you mean? Who was she?"
"Well, d'ye 'appen to know a young woman name of Nancy Price, sir?"
"No!"
"And yet you've 'ad same in your arms, Mr. Werricker, sir."
"What the devil are you suggesting?" I demanded angrily.
"I suggest as you found same young woman in a vood at midnight and carried 'er to a inn called the 'Soaring Lark.'"
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "That unfortunate creature?"
"That werry same i-dentical, sir—a wictim o' wiciousness as your late lamented uncle, Sir Jervas, God bless 'im—amen!—saved from des'prit courses—"