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" "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. ” He said, uncrossing his arms. ” He sat for a moment, absorbing. ‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. 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. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. “Rhea will return soon.
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