As Mrs. . Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. And they pay her. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. Your maid has twenty minutes to pack your dressing case for one night, and you have the same time to change into a travelling dress. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. Sheppard. A woman isn’t much freer—in reality.
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