"Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. . Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it.
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