. . ” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Ann Veronica loved beautiful things, and the beauty of undraped loveliness not least among them; but these were pictures that did but insist coarsely upon the roundness of women’s bodies. “That sounds interesting. The Palazzo was unlike anything she had ever known. Jeremiah Jackson's double. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. He had a great contempt for the sections the “theorizers” produced.
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