And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. Anna herself opened the hall door. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp.
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