Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. I always say that it’s poverty before everything that makes a girl skip the line. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. Anna sprang to her feet with a startled cry. “You are one of the Hampshire Pellissiers, I know, and your family are quite as good as ours.
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