“Come,” he continued, “the world after all is a very small place. "You won't betray him. Was he your natural father? Did you know him?” “No, I didn’t. "As long as you please, Sir," answered the matron, dropping a curtsey. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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