” Sir John’s head bent lower and lower. But behind these things which you have said to me there must be others of which I know nothing. ’ ‘Well, don’t bite my head off,’ protested Mrs Sindlesham, clearly amused. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. “Dear John,” she whispered. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid, patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century, and some other articles of female attire.
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