He then arose, and, taking a few turns in the chamber, stopped suddenly before her. She sat herself upon the bed. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. “I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded.
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