“I admired your sister in Paris,” he answered, “but I do not believe that I regard her now as altogether the same person. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. ’ Reminiscence made him smile. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. ” That simple statement of the case was by no means all that went on in Ann Veronica’s mind. Her wedding gown! She wondered if the spirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her. “Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear.
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