Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. ‘And now,’ he said, drawing Madame to the seat, and contriving to sit close enough that his anatomy touched hers at several points, ‘let us talk about you, madame. ” Anna smiled very faintly, and shook her head. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Even the stars were strangers.
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