‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. " "It is too late," returned Jack, sullenly; "I can't be honest if I would. . ” Lucy coolly marveled as she studied the girl’s face, belly swollen from pregnancy. It felt too good. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. She had the dowry she needed for the lawyers were working to give her Remenham House.
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