She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. We can’t even protect them from themselves. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. Here one might live the life of golden days. “The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to a head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a young lady in your position may or may not venture to do. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. It was the grand nursery of vice.
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