“And yet I do it without compunction. Fortescue?” “At your service. ’ There was a pause. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. She hesitated. Wood, softening her asperity. He seemed to her indistinguishably about her father’s age.
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