Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Then for a time she forgot the Fadden affair altogether. She laid her hand upon his arm. Kneebone took his leave. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. To simplify matters, he carried a coloured paper lantern upon which his license number was painted in Arabic numerals. Wood, furiously.
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