. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. "Oho!" he said. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. ‘And me, I am a lady.
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