Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. ” They stared at each other through a pause, and both faces were flushed and obstinate. A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. She was the social leader of Morningside Park, and in her superficial and euphuistic way an extremely kind and pleasant woman. His brows drew a little nearer together. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. There she would wander about in the kindly darkness.
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