Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. She still had her letter of credit. "Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. ” Ann Veronica read this letter through with grave, attentive eyes.
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