To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. But Enschede took them as they came, without question. ” She scoffed. " "Where's Mr.
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