As to her garments, they were old, and far too thin for the season.

A light, faded shawl, of costly material, was drawn closely around her shoulders, but had not the power to keep from her attenuated frame the chill air, or to turn off the fine penetrating rain that came with the wind, searchingly from-the bleak north-east.

Her dress, of summer calico, much worn, clung closely to her body.

Above all was a close bonnet, and a thick vail, which she drew around her face as she stepped into the street and glided hurriedly away.
"She's a touch above the vulgar, Michael," broke in Berlaps, the owner of the shop, coming forward as he spoke.
"Yes, indeed! That craft has been taut rigged in her time." "Who can she be, Michael?
None of your common ones, of course ?" "Oh no, of course not; she's 'seen better days,' as the slang phrase is." "No doubt of that.

What name did she give." "Lizzy Glenn.