For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. . The truth was impossible, indecent. "Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. ‘That’s a loud one. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. After all, she only LOOKED a woman. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. “Please come home. “I am sure, Anna,” she said, “I do not see why we should conceal the truth from you. He did not like it. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. “Her ladyship dined at home,” the man answered.
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