" So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. You do not love your husband, you have married him for a position —to escape from—things which you feared. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. "It is droll," he said. You’ll have to find someone else. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived.
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