CHAPTER TEN.
Through the disused graveyard in the parish of St.Pancras, Fanny Elmer strayed between the white tombs which lean against the wall, crossing the grass to read a name, hurrying on when the grave-keeper approached, hurrying into the street, pausing now by a window with blue china, now quickly making up for lost time, abruptly entering a baker's shop, buying rolls, adding cakes, going on again so that any one wishing to follow must fairly trot.

She was not drably shabby, though.

She wore silk stockings, and silver-buckled shoes, only the red feather in her hat drooped, and the clasp of her bag was weak, for out fell a copy of Madame Tussaud's programme as she walked.

She had the ankles of a stag.
Her face was hidden.

Of course, in this dusk, rapid movements, quick glances, and soaring hopes come naturally enough.