Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. A sob was strangled in her throat. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. ‘In fact, I’ve never met anyone who goaded me to so much violence. And then you go—and half throttle me. ‘He’d have been that happy if he’d known how you’re the spit of her, miss. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. A wrathful God was watching him. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. Never mind. ’ ‘Then who is this Englishman?’ demanded Gerald on a sceptical note.
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