It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. " "What right have you to suppose this, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, sternly. Under happier circumstances nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have offered you a home with your sister. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. ” “When is Michaelmas Day?” said Ann Veronica, a little abruptly. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square.
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