What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. You forget that every one is going to the ‘Unusual’ to see her. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. His eyes were set too close together. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. ” “Was he divorced, do you mean?” “No, but he got himself mixed up in a divorce case.
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