The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. In rushed Mr. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. Always remember that. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. Sheppard, with a look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion.
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