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“No thanks. ’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared. “Very sincerely yours, “ANN VERONICA STANLEY. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. See? Nothing really. I might have known it. Pitt, the governor, a tall pompous personage, who, in his turn, ushered in four other individuals. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. There's a hundred pounds too much. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris.
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