"Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. At last, a little way to the northward of Euston Road, the moral cloud seemed to lift, the moral atmosphere to change; clean blinds appeared in the windows, clean doorsteps before the doors, a different appeal in the neatly placed cards bearing the word ————————————— | APARTMENTS ————————————— | in the clear bright windows. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. Ruth went on to explain.
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