For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for some time buried in reflection. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. A momentary petrifaction, and terror had lent wings to her feet. His last actions were futile. My late husband, I mean.
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