The boy she had loved was gone. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. Old pupil. At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. Why? While the front of his mind was busy warning her not to fall into the hopeless miseries of underpaid teaching, and explaining his idea that for women of initiative, quite as much as for men, the world of business had by far the best chances, the back chambers of his brain were busy with the problem of that “Why?” His first idea as a man of the world was to explain her unrest by a lover, some secret or forbidden or impossible lover. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together. He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. " CHAPTER XV.
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