Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. Goodbye. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. Fear nothing. "Only Jack's two wives—Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot," replied Austin, laughing.
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