“You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. “You see, her sister is married to Ferringhall, isn’t she? and she herself must be drawing no end of a good screw here. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels.
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