He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. And while her son was reconveyed to prison the body of the unfortunate Mrs. Mr. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. .
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