As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. ‘Wait a minute, though. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted.
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