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"Pretty witness," he muttered, looking down into his glass. "I

have had enough of witnesses to-day and to-night; who's your

pretty witness?"

"The picturesque doctor's daughter, Miss Manette."

"She pretty?"

"Is she not?"

"No."

"Why, man alive, she was the admiration of the whole Court!"

"Rot the admiration of the whole Court! Who made the Old Bailey a

judge of beauty? She was a golden-haired doll!"

"Do you know, Sydney," said Mr. Stryver, looking at him with

sharp eyes, and slowly drawing a hand across his florid face: "do

you know, I rather thought, at the time, that you sympathised

with the golden-haired doll, and were quick to see what happened

to the golden-haired doll?"

"Quick to see what happened! If a girl, doll or no doll, swoons

within a yard or two of a man's nose, he can see it without a

perspective-glass. I pledge you, but I deny the beauty. And now

I'll have no more drink; I'll get to bed."