The Supper at Mr. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. For that my father so stupide was in love with this Suzanne Valade, is it not?’ ‘Well, miss,’ temporised Mrs Ibstock, ‘we didn’t rightly know that then. "What I do is for the best, and I can only hope she may have strength to bear the separation. She will not confide in me. ’ ‘Get on, Hilary, do,’ begged Lucilla.
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