” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. ‘I have not asked for this trouble from anyone. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. ‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. Michelle answered the door. You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained. ” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715.
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