"Well, Mr. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. ” And while he talked and watched her as he talked, she answered, and behind her listening watched and thought about him. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. The signs of the shops were carried to incredible distances. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. “I was frightened then,” she declared. Then she moved towards the door.
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