Page 306 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

her hand as white as of yore. Her hair, bound close about her
head, was plentiful and glossy, and her eyes had lost none of
their dangerous brightness. Her figure was coarser, and the
white arm that gleamed through a muslin sleeve showed an
outline that a fastidious artist might wish to modify. The
most noticeable change was in her face. The cheeks owned
no longer that delicate purity which they once boasted, but
had become thicker, while here and there showed those
faint red streaks—as though the rich blood throbbed too
painfully in the veins—which are the first signs of the decay
of ‘fine’ women. With middle age and the fullness of figure
to which most women of her temperament are prone, had
come also that indescribable vulgarity of speech and man-
ner which habitual absence of moral restraint never fails to
produce.
Maurice Frere spoke first; he was anxious to bring his
visit to as speedy a termination as possible. ‘What do you
want of me?’ he asked.
Sarah Purfoy laughed; a forced laugh, that sounded so
unnatural, that Frere turned to look at her. ‘I want you to
do me a favour— a very great favour; that is if it will not put
you out of the way.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Frere roughly, pursing his
lips with a sullen air. ‘Favour! What do you call this?’ strik-
ing the sofa on which he sat. ‘Isn’t this a favour? What do
you call your precious house and all that’s in it? Isn’t that a
favour? What do you mean?’
To his utter astonishment the woman replied by shed-
ding tears. For some time he regarded her in silence, as if

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