Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. For some time he could not stir, but felt sick and exhausted. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. He opened the drawer of the writing table. The vengeance of the assailants did not stop here. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in London. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake.
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