The Duchess knew the singular history of Jonah, the boot king, and awaited his arrival with intense curiosity.

She had married a failure, and adored success.

She decided to treat Jonah as an equal, forgiving his lowly origin with a confused idea that it was the proper thing for millionaires to spring from the gutter, the better to show their contempt for the ordinary advantages of education and family.
She had decided to wear her black silk, faded and darned, but by drawing the curtains; she hoped it would pass.

From some receptacle unknown to Dad she had fished out a few relics of her former grandeur--an old-fashioned card-tray of solid silver, and the quaint silver tea-set with the tiny silver spoons that her grandmother had sent as a wedding present from England.
Clara had just finished a variation with three tremendous fortissimo chords when she heard the wheels of a cab.

This was an event in itself, for cabs in Buckland Street generally meant doctors, hospitals, or sudden death.