” She said. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. I thought perhaps you were staying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious to recognize your old friends. After partaking of some little refreshment, and changing her attire, Mrs. Brendon,” she said, “if I could ask for advice, or borrow money from any one, I would from you—there! But I cannot. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. ‘See that writing table? Go and look in the drawer there. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. ‘I don’t want a list of all the nuns resident in your wretched convent.
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