” She suddenly caught hold of his shoulders and drew him down towards her. In a moment they were in the street outside. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. Beyond that everything was nebulous. She was no longer a confederate in that. The man was mad to marry me. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield.
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