" "You don't inquire what brings Sir James Thornhill here?" said Austin. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. The Chapel. The place to which you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performance was a fraud. Certainly not a gentlewoman. It had showed up at an auction at Sotheby’s after someone had sold it. It has been a big night. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it. Wild.
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