’ ‘How can you possibly enquire for her?’ demanded Hilary acidly. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. "Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. "And the will?" he said, with forced calmness. "I don't know his name. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter.
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