We had read them in the newspapers.

But till now we had never come across an example.

The woman in question belonged to a bad type.

Various dregs from large cities drift into the mills around little country towns and are the despair of Mayors, curates, and other local authorities.

We genteel folk regarded them as a plague-spot in the midst of us.
I remember the scandal when the troops first came in August, 1914, to Wellingsford--a scandal put a summary end to, after a fortnight's grinning amazement at our country morals, by the troops themselves.
Tufton had married into an undesirable community.
"We're wasting time," said Betty.
So Marigold put me into the back of the car and mounted into the front seat by Betty, and we started.
Flowery End was the poetic name of the mean little row of red-brick houses inhabited exclusively by Mrs.Tufton and her colleagues at the mills.