My people don’t know what to do. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked. . Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. ’” “What did he say?” “What does any one say to an invitation to dinner point-blank? One tries to collect one’s wits. She glared at him with satisfaction. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. As he fell, he caught at the projecting masonry. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world.
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