. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. You know very well that you took from my easel David Courtlaw’s study of me, and sent it to Cariolus. ” Mr. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. “She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. He unlocked himself from her embrace.
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