"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. There must be ways of getting rid of him. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own.
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