“Then go, sir, in Heave name.”
“And to think that people say photography is so true to life!” growled, as he departed, this father of his country.
“Number 25,” cried the manservant, putting his head in at the door of the waiting-room.
And Number 25, who is not a bad-looking lady, passes through the corridor and enters the studio.
The photographer bows, and the following conversation begins:—
“Sir,” said the lady, “my happiness lies in your hands.”
“I am very pleased, sure; but I do quite understand....”
“I am a single lady, sir, as yet single....”
“Been so long?”
“What?”