Miss Winwood herself knew more of drunken squalor.

He saw himself a ragged and unwashed urchin, his appalling breeches supported by one brace, addressing her in familiar terms; and he saw her transfigured air of lofty disgust; whereupon he laughed aloud in the middle of a most unhumorous sentence, much to Miss Smithers' astonishment.
When he had finished his dictation he dismissed her and sat down to his writing.

After a while Miss Winwood came in.

The five years had treated her lightly.

A whitening of the hair about her brows, which really enhanced the comeliness of her florid complexion, a few more lines at corners of eyes and lips, were the only evidences of the touch of Time's fingers.