It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling. These two elderly ladies would call her stark mad. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy.
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