"Thank Heaven!" she gasped. O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. The girl is in it as deeply as he is. “Not a bit of it. ’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. And ever after it struck him that her backward smile as she disappeared was charged with some special significance.
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