"I alone am to blame. Again returning to the main road, he passed through Clapton; and turning off on the left, arrived at the foot of Stamford Hill. It'll be advertised to-morrow. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. Here are all our harlequins and columbines of the spoken and written drama. She felt herself getting into a corner. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged. “Come on in.
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