The worst was over now. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. Hurled over the sides of the skiff, the ruffian speedily found a watery grave. The Disguise 261 VI. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. Hope reared. Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. . Tears sprang to her eyes. Profligate women are never reclaimed. Who invented them? Nobody knows.
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