The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. Profligate women are never reclaimed. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. A bad sign; it signified that the heart action was in a precarious state. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. Louis the Fourteenth yet lived, and expectations were, therefore, indulged of assistance from France. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. Do you have a car?” She asked. His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle.
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