shoulder. She felt as if something that she had waited
for a long time was coming to her. "Sit by the stove.
Your hands are like ice," she said.

"Yes, I am usually cold now; I don't know why."

Lucy then saw a curious change in her face. The fine
meanings were not in it now. It was fatter--coarser; the
hair was dead, the eyes moved sluggishly, like the glass
eyes of a doll.

"You are always cold? Your blood is thin, perhaps. You
are overtired, dear. Have you travelled much?"

"Oh, yes! all of the time. I have seen whole tracts of
pictures, and no end of palaces and
hotels--hotels--hotels!" Frances said, awakening to the
necessity of being talkative and vivacious with the young
girl. She threw off her cloak. There was a rip in the
fur, and the dirty lining hung out. Lucy shuddered.
Mrs. Waldeaux's blood must have turned to water, or she
would never have permitted that!

"You must rest now. I will take care of you," she said,
with a little nod of authority. Frances looked at her
perplexed. Why should this pretty creature mother her
with such tenderness?

Oh! It was the girl that George should have married!