Lucy clutched the pencil in defeat. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. ‘He is not in England, you understand. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. —There, Mr. ‘She’s little more than a schoolgirl, just out. In other respects, they were equally indecorous and offensive. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. But this modern miasma—” Mr.
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