WAS IT INTO THE FIRE?
One lovely evening in the beginning of June, when her turn had come to
get away a little earlier, Amy Amber thought with herself she would at
last make an effort to find Miss Raymount. In the hurry of escaping from
Burcliff she left her address behind, but had long since learned it from
a directory, and was now sufficiently acquainted with London to know how
to reach Addison square. Having dressed herself therefore in becoming
style, for dress was one of the instincts of the girl--an unacquirable
gift, not necessarily associated with anything noble--in the daintiest,
brightest little bonnet, a well-made, rather gay print, boots just a
little too _auffallend_, and gloves that clung closer to the small
short hand than they had to cling to the bodies of the rodents from
which they came, she set out for her visit.
In every motion and feeling, Amy Amber was a little lady. She had not
much experience. She could not fail to show ignorance of some of the
small ways and customs of the next higher of the social strata. But such
knowledge is not essential to ladyhood, though half-ladies think
themselves whole ladies because they have it.
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