The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. The place to which you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performance was a fraud. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside.
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