ToC On the night of Friday, the 26th of November, 1703, and at the hour of eleven, the door of a miserable habitation, situated in an obscure quarter of the Borough of Southwark, known as the Old Mint, was opened; and a man, with a lantern in his hand, appeared at the threshold. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. It was the bitterest moment of her life. This young man did not drink because he sought the false happiness that lured men to the bottle. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. He placed his chin upon the top of her head. “I am sorry. Let her see what she could make here. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination.
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