Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. Why not kill her here, and leave silently, the way he must have come? Could it be that he had not the intention to kill her? En tout cas, it gave her a chance. The rest was easy. 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. ’” Anna made no remark. The thought of the picture but added to her despondency. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said.
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