As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds.
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