— 19 —Mrs. Sacret had a good deal of time to put in before she could venture to return to Minton Street. Her refreshment was soon taken and she turned down one of the streets of small purple brick houses to the river. It was low tide and the mud flats were exposed; on the farther bank the trees, in midsummer leafage, were dense as light green hills. The sun blinds were drawn over doors and windows, no one was abroad; there was to the lonely woman an almost intolerable sense of meanness and emptiness under the trembling shade of the tall planes that shaded the flat mansions that overlooked the Thames. At one time, from the drabness of Minton Street, she had envied the residents of this superior terrace; now she detested it. Indeed she recognized her plight: She detested every prospect save
