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. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. He talked with his manner gentle and kindly. He knows everything. Where I am in error, you can set me right. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. ” The man’s face was dark with passion.
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