He did not look like a porter.

He was not an office boy.

He was evidently one of the upper-clerks.

It was certainly very kind in Uncle Lawrence.
So thought the solitary Princess in the tower, her mind wandering from the romance she was reading to a busy speculation upon the reality in the street beneath her.
The blind was thrown partly back as she sat at the open window.

A simple airy dress, made by her own hands, covered her flower-like figure.