" "Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority. "Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again.
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