“Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ” She realized it was possible to be sorry for him—acutely sorry for the situation. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. ’ ‘Ah, that explains your surprise. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. Mr. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall.
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