” “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. ” “Well?” Anna remarked calmly.
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