No man knew whence she had come nor why. . . After all, why need one look down. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. " "You will call for it before six months are passed," rejoined Jack, sternly. ” She stopped short, full of things un-said. Listen to me, Thames. ” Annabel laughed softly. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. ‘I do not know him. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. .
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