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Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. ‘You know what I am about,’ exclaimed Melusine impatiently. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. “I should like you to come here,” she said. “Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. .
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