She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. There was a strange quality of steel in this pretty creature. He refrained from pointing out that the case would be exactly the same if she was not a lady. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies. . Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. . . “To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?” “I do not know,” he answered, “but I am going to see David Courtlaw. ” She wanted to feast upon him badly, his passion, his youthfulness. ‘And so?’ she asked. “But frankly, I mean to fight this through if I possibly can. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls.
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