"Quick. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. “For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. Alors, one must steel oneself. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. He took up his hat and went. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls.
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