If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Squads reached to the very portal of that centre of disturbance. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck.
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