He did in fact know nothing about her but what she told herself, and this amounted to little more than three statements, which might or might not be true,--that she had gone on the stage in opposition to her friends,--that she had married an actor, who had treated her with great cruelty,--and that he had died of drink.

And with each of these stories there had been an accompaniment of mystery.
She had not told him her maiden name, nor what had been the condition of her parents, nor whether they were living, nor at what theatres she and her husband had acted, nor when he had died.

She had expressed a hope that she might get an engagement in the colonies, but she had not spoken of any recommendation or letters of introduction.

He simply knew of her that her name was Euphemia Smith.
In that matter of her clothes there had been a great improvement, but made very gradually.

She had laughed at her own precautions, saying, that in her poverty she had wished to save everything that could be saved, and that she had only intended to make herself look like others in the same class.