They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. “Would YOU like us—if some one told you the bare outline of our story?— and what we are doing?” “I shouldn’t mind,” said Ann Veronica. "I am too much honoured—too happy in the union. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. Um. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. Who? Could it be Gerald? Quickly, she looked back at Gosse’s face, and found him frowning. He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move.
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