She was extremely showily dressed, and her large hooped petticoat gave additional effect to her lofty stature. Profligate women are never reclaimed. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. ’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Gerald studied the darkness beyond the aperture. Chapter XXIV A CASE FOR THE POLICE After that first horrible moment it was perhaps Anna who was the more selfpossessed.
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