Chapter 1. Grace Danton
_ CHAPTER I. GRACE DANTON
A low room, oblong in shape, three high narrow windows admitting the light through small, old-fashioned panes. Just at present there was not much to admit, for it was raining hard, and the afternoon was wearing on to dusk； but even the wet half-light showed you solid mahogany furniture, old-fashioned as the windows themselves, black and shining with age and polish； a carpet soft and thick, but its once rich hues dim and faded； oil paintings of taste and merit, some of them portraits, on the papered walls, the red glow of a large coal fire glinting pleasantly on their broad gilded frames.
At one of the windows, looking out at the ceaseless rain, a young lady sat--a young lady, tall, rather stout than slender, and not pretty. Her complexion was too sallow； her features too irregular； her dark hair too scant, and dry and thin at the parting； but her eyes were fine, large, brown and clear； her manner, self-possessed and lady-like.

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