“If I thought for a moment that there was any chance of a relapse, I should stop here and tell him the truth even now. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. ’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them.
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