CHAPTER III. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, “yes,” to his explanation, and saw across the lawn Lady Palsworthy talking to her aunt, and both of them staring frankly across at her and Mr. Yes, very well. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. ” “I will tell her,” Anna promised.
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