On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. “I suppose you’re like the rest of them. You have been useful to me, or I would not have spared you thus long. ’ You used to declare that you hated the name. She had never been to the opera before except as one of a congested mass of people in the cheaper seats, and with backs and heads and women’s hats for the frame of the spectacle; there was by contrast a fine large sense of space and ease in her present position. To be complete, my vengeance must be tardy. All these things spoke of peace;—but there are seasons when the pleasantest external influences have a depressing effect on the mind, by painfully recalling past happiness. She wished she had not stood up.
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