As much as it killed her, she kept her mouth shut. "It's you, Jack, who are persuading my brother to do wrong. Oh, wait!’ She seized Jack’s arm as he was about to go out of the room. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition.
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