The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. "Not I," replied Blueskin. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. The next door neighbor's dog, chained outside, let out a single bark, but was silent as soon as she turned in that direction, instinctively afraid.
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