She thought of all the trouble and harm this young woman was bringing into their ordered family and she would not have it that she was innocent.

She saw Stella with her cloak open upon her shoulders radiant and glistening and slender against the dark panels of the staircase, youth in her face, enjoyment sparkling in her eyes, and her fingers itched to strip her of her bright frock, her gloves, her slim satin slippers, the delicate white lace which nestled against her bosom.

She clothed her in the heavy shapeless garments, the coarse shoes and stockings of the convict; she saw her working desperately against time upon an ignoble task with black and broken finger-nails.

If longing could have worked the miracle, thus at this hour would Stella Ballantyne have sat and worked, all the colour of her faded to a hideous drab, all the grace of her withered.

Mrs.Pettifer turned away with so abrupt a movement and so disordered a face that Robert asked her if she was ill.
"No, it's nothing," she said and against her will her eyes were drawn back to the staircase.