‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. I have squeezed three kids into it afore now. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. Hill, Meysey Hill. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. It is a very good English name, no? But who is she?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham, I should say,’ said Mrs Ibstock, correcting herself.
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