Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. “For instance?” She smiled.
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