‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Instantly seizing it, the young man placed it in the carriage, shut the door, and commanded his servants to drive off. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames. Nothing was given away, and no one came so rich to the stall as to command all that it had to offer. "Do they treat you ill?" asked her son.
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