“If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. The porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered him to take care of the horses. They were on their way back home, or so she had thought. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. ” “Not coming home!” “No!” And, in spite of her resolve to be a Person, Ann Veronica began to weep with terror at herself.
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