\" It was a lie: Lucy ate one forced meal a day, supper. . The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. No one. Will you take it in to him?” The young man smiled in a superior manner. They had both been unsuccessful. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me.
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