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Lucy jammed her foot down onto Mark McCloskey’s forehead. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. "I shall do no such thing. ” “Don’t imperil my reputation before I am established,” she answered, smiling. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days.
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