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"I must see him to-night. I know my son's voice too well. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. "Flying fish. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. " "By those who've conspired with me?" "No! by those who've entrapped you! You've long eluded our vigilance; but we've caught you at last!" "Damnation!" exclaimed the woollen-draper; "that I should be the dupe of such a miserable artifice!" "It's no use lamenting now, Captain! You ought rather to be obliged to us for allowing you to pay this visit. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. He saw that she was tense. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning.
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