Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. " "Run along, then. I can keep you. " It was only a shade better than the Stone Hold. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. “Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. ” Sir John frowned. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor.
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