She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Not choosing to hazard so great a fall, Jack turned to examine the building, to see whether any more favourable point of descent presented itself, but could discover nothing but steep walls, without a single available projection. This time there wasn't any doubt. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that.
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