She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes. ‘Precisely. . She infused menace into her voice. 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. Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch.
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