" So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. Here, it might be anything at all. "A hundred pounds!" exclaimed Shotbolt. Miss Moffatt, the history and moral instruction mistress, was particularly explicit upon this score, and they all agreed in indicating contempt and pity for girls whose minds ran on such matters, and who betrayed it in their conversation or dress or bearing. The remainder of dinner was surreal and stilted. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out.
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