In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. I loathe this room. 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. It was neither good nor bad. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion.
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