“Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. She looked at him curiously. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. “Well, my girl, I wish you had thought about all these things before these bothers began. You look very handsome.
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