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Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. The young man desperately ill and the girl taking care of him! Of course, there could be only one ending to such a bout with liquor, and that ending had come perhaps suddenly but not surprisingly. "Lost no time on the road—eh!—I didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. For a time she worried about that compulsory bath and cutaneous diseases. This too shall pass.
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