” The lady in black satin looked at the pile of luggage outside and hesitated. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. ‘I went to see him because I thought he ought to know about you, having already been imposed upon by our friend Gosse. . ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. This morning I met him at the dock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty. But it was of no avail. ” She replied vaguely. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times.
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