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If I could but——” To escape from her thoughts she began to undress, humming a light tune to herself, though her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and the sobs kept rising in her throat. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. “If you speak—farewell. "I am very wicked," she said. She confronted him with his own double-standard. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned.
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