"I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. I dare say it will be chattered about for weeks. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. He was so seldom wrong. There was something in Jonathan's manner, as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he afterwards recalled it.
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