" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. I found a blue stone on the beach once. You make yourself charming for help. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. “You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. How dreary it all looks. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett.
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