Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. Dim souls flitted about her, not only speaking but it would seem even thinking in undertones. She asked the girl to fetch Mr. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. “I should really like to find somewhere to stay, if it was only for a few nights.
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