She lost it in the Mint. “Dear me!” he said. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. But this plan (probably from its danger) was instantly abandoned; not, however, before her momentary hesitation had been taken advantage of by her pursuers, who, redoubling their efforts at this juncture, materially lessened the distance between them. What is done cannot be undone. The theme was a masquerade. I rather want them. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing.
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