’ ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Lucilla enthusiastically. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry. It was a purse. At last in a street near the Hampstead Road she hit upon a room that had an exceptional quality of space and order, and a tall woman with a kindly face to show it. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major. It consisted of a full-dress coat of brown flowered velvet, laced with silver; a waistcoat of white satin, likewise richly embroidered; shoes with red heels, and large diamond buckles; pearlcoloured silk stockings with gold clocks; a muslin cravat, or steen-kirk, as it was termed, edged with the fine point lace; ruffles of the same material, and so ample as almost to hide the tips of his fingers; and a silver-hilted sword. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. Shari was snoring soundly. “Before I met you I was deluded into receiving upon friendly terms a man named Hill, who passed himself off as Meysey Hill the railway man, but who was in reality an Englishman in poor circumstances. Here and there, a building might be seen with the doors and windows driven in, and all access to it prevented by the heaps of bricks and tilesherds. . What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. .
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