’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. She touched it, and her gaze lifted. Poor little one. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Here again the clothes were minus the labels. "I will not submit to be thus interrogated," said Winifred, angrily. " "And you my warning," retorted Wild. ’ She shook her head sadly.
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