He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. She ought to have leapt back on guard. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. I can. And even if that,’ she added bitterly, ‘he must be also a person of a disposition extremely mad, that he can go against the family. Let’s have an advance round of applause for our concertmaster, 249 Lucy Albert!” Lucy was horrified. ” He took a seat by her side.
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