The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. Her father was holding her waist, smiling. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. ’ ‘People are silly. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Her gratitude swelled within her. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. I want to know what you are doing; how you think this work of yours really does serve women. ’ ‘He let them go?’ asked Miss Froxfield incredulously.
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