I said to myself at once, ‘Either this is a coincidence or the caper sauce. ’ ‘It could hardly be less so,’ said Mrs Sindlesham tartly. "Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. Beck, it smells wonderful in here. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. "I should be perfectly miserable if I thought you in earnest. It was easy for him to see that she desired to be agreeable to him. Yet you catch her eye—you can’t seem to escape from it. “Who are you?” She asked innocently. 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. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said.
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