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In the evening, I ran down to the beautiful suburb called Pleasington, in the hope of meeting a friend of mine there; not finding him, I came away by the eight o'clock train. The evening was splendid, and it was cheering to see the old bounty of nature gushing forth again in such unusual profusion and beauty, as if in pitiful charity for the troubles of mankind.
He recognized her as the woman who had stared after him when he left Austin Turold's lodgings, but he could not conjecture the object of her visit. "I see you do not remember me," she sadly remarked. "You are Mrs. Brierly, I think." "Yes. But I was Mary Pleasington before I was married. I remember you very well, but I suppose that I have changed." Mr.
Brimsdown recalled the name with a start of surprise. He found it difficult to recognize, in the faded woman before him, the pretty daughter of his old client, Sir Roger Pleasington, whose debts and lawsuits had been compounded by death ten years before.
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