She was dressed in yellow: the colour seemed jeering and mocking to the girl's sensitive instinct, keenly alive to every trifle.

She did not know that it is the colour of shams, and that women like this are the most deadly of shams.

As the phaeton went slowly down, Margret came nearer, meeting it on the road-side, the dust from the wheels stifling the air.

Lois saw her look up, and then suddenly stand still, holding to the fence, as they met her.

Holmes's cold, wandering eye turned on the little dusty figure standing there, poor and despised.