The Count is neither sad nor sick, nor merry, nor well; but civil, Count--civil as an orange, and something of that jealous complexion.--MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Half-frozen with his journey, and shaking from his coat large flakes of the snow, which trembled in the air, they took him into the dining-room, where a blazing fire, a late dinner, and the warm and smiling welcome of Agnes greatly solaced the wayfarer. Harry had met him in Stirling, and driven him out; but Harry’s carriage, though it could be closed, was not so comfortable on a December night as in the bright sunshine of a July day. Cuthbert made hurried inquiries after Martha and Rose, in answer to which Agnes began a most animate…
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