The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. So dreadful were these shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who shrank out of sight. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack. She—She can snub him. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry.
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