Then the thoughts grew sad and envious. There was the girl named Helen, who had pinched his umbrella, and the German girl who had smiled at him pleasantly, and Herr some one, and Aunt some one, and the brother—all, all with their hands on the ropes. They had all passed up that narrow, rich staircase at Wickham Place to some ample room, whither he could never follow them, not if
The working class troubled Mr Bast with whom the foolish Helen gets enmeshed. If these girls worked they wouldn't have time to indulge their caprices.
