Melusine soon found herself seated at a table, with a dirty piece of paper in front of her, and a badly mended pen between her fingers. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. The Night-Cellar. I wish”— she found she had embarked on a bad sentence—“I wish we needn’t have quarrelled. Regardless as the gentry of the Mint usually were (for, indeed, they had become habituated from their frequent occurrence to such scenes,) of any outrages committed in their streets; deaf, as they had been, to the recent scuffle before Mrs.
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