Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. He blushed furiously; it was not what he had expected to hear. And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. "No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob. Stanley allowed his paper to drop a little, and scrutinized the hats and brows of their three fellow-travellers. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner.
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