The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. As the night advanced, Mr. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. " "Your prisoner!" echoed Jonathan, derisively. She had reason enough to be grateful to Prudence Sindlesham and it was not fair that this horrible feeling of loneliness should be made known to her. She felt she had stepped into a world of unknown usages.
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