He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. "We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began,—"for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name,—we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. 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. She walked through the walls. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise. Dizziness overcame him like anesthetic and he slept.
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