’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. Good heavens! She was discussing love-making. He allowed his voice to drip with sympathy. If ever he requires my services, he shall find I'm not ungrateful. Byrom,—a poet of whom his native town, Manchester, may be justly proud; and his features and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions on the present occasion,—Hogarth,—in the levée in the "Rake's Progress," and in "Southwark Fair.
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