"
"Give her my love."
"I will, Mrs. Sampson."
"Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Mrs. Sampson's nose, that would take on a blue colour on a cold day,
quivered, her thin mouth shut with a snap, and she was gone.
"But I wasn't afraid of her!" She was almost frightened at this new spirit
that had come to her, and, feeling rather that in another moment she would
be punished for her piratical audacity, she turned up the steps into the
Circulating Library.
It was the custom in those days that far away from the dust of the grimy
shelves, in the very middle of the room, there was a table with all the
latest works of fiction in their gaudy bindings, a few volumes of poetry
and a few memoirs. Close to this table Miss Milton sat, wrapped, in the
warmest weather, in a thick shawl and knitting endless stockings. She
hated children, myself in particular. She was also a Snob of the Snobs,
and thanked God on her knees every night for Lady St. Leath, Mrs.
Combermere and Mrs. Sampson, by whose graces she was left in her present
position.
Joan was still too near childhood to be considered very seriously, and it
was well known that her father did not take her very seriously either.
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