It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. "What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. To—to find myself. She jumped up at once, caught up a leather clutch containing notebooks, a fat textbook, and a chocolate-and-yellow-covered pamphlet, and leaped neatly from the carriage, only to discover that the train was slowing down and that she had to traverse the full length of the platform past it again as the result of her precipitation. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. Lucy stood in front of the piano. “I can say no more.
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