Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. Jack was completely overcome. Nobody will ever know what the fleas thought. The new-comer looked at Charcam. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand.
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