All seemed infected with Austin's terrors except Mrs. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. Ennison,” she said, letting her fingers rest in his. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. Her answer was not quite ready.
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