"Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. "I read those stories. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead. . “You are absurd,” she declared. “You’d have to think how to get in between his bones. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. . . He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister.
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