“That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. Eh bien, she must use her tongue against him.
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