In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face.
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