’ ‘Alas. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. . ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. “My husband and all his friends are fools, and the life they lead is impossible for me. In the struggle the pistol went off, but without damage to either party. Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. Her aunt went off at a tangent.
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