" "I don't unterstand you," returned Mrs. . This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested.
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