CHAPTER XXIX. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. "Why did I want it under my pillow?" he asked. I fought. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. But that explains everything. In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. After all there are other things. . Understand once and for all that that answer is final. " "Well, Sir," gasped Mrs.
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