But a far greater affliction was in store for her. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home.
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