"Once there," proceeded Wild, without noticing the interruption, "he's as good as in his grave. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. “He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. But did any woman get anything better from a man? Perhaps every woman conceals herself from a man perforce!. ’ The lady sighed and spread her hands. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms.
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