She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. . Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. . After all, she only LOOKED a woman. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. This lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial connections.
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