“Quite on my own,” she said. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. Heedless, however, of the consequences, he pursued his task. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. Gosse was backing towards the table. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. Lucy wore it every day from then on. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met.
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