Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. Ramage. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. “Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. . They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. When anybody is natural, these days, we dub them queer.
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