But … he must want to live in order that the inclination to repeat this incident may not recur. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. But understand me thoroughly: I am offering you this job because my friend wants to help you.
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