“Do not force me to take you seriously,” she continued. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. It's almost incredible. 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. “I will not ask you to explain further. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. ‘If Major Alderley should happen to call, you may admit him also. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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