which was uttered in a very low voice,—"Ah! they seem real dashers!"
"Dashers!" repeated Mauleverer; "true, haber-dashers!"
Long Ned, now, having in the way of his profession acquitted himself tolerably well at the card-table, thought he had purchased the right to parade himself through the rooms, and show the ladies what stuff a Pepper could be made of.
Leaning with his left hand on Tomlinson's arm, and employing the right in fanning himself furiously with his huge chapeau bras, the lengthy adventurer stalked slowly along—now setting out one leg jauntily—now the other—and ogling "the ladies" with a kind of Irish look, viz. a look between a wink and a stare.
Released from the presence of Clifford, who kept a certain check on his companions, the apparition of Ned became glaringly conspicuous; and wherever he passed, a universal whisper succeeded.
"Who can he be?" said the widow Matemore;
