We're lost. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. She may address me as “Grandfather” if she chooses, since I’m obliged to accept her in that capacity. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. It was really very nice of you, but to-morrow you will laugh at it as I do now.
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