“You have succeeded a little too well in your personation,” she said bitterly, “to get rid very easily of Mr. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. ” “You mean you’re going to run away with me?” He asked in semi-seriousness. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. It is not for myself I fear. A fortnight passed, then a month. It’s not fair to you. Utter silence answered him.
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