Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. "Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request. “It really is not necessary. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men. "By all means," rejoined Quilt.
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