“More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said. " "What do you require further?" asked Jonathan. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. "Nobody shall," cried Mr. " "I hope not," replied Wild. “TROUSERS!” she whispered.
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