Even an unlikely episode such as this could not be ignored. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. “Yeah, but I have two brothers. All at once he recollected the fact that McClintock's copra plantation was down that way, somewhere in the South Seas; had an island of his own. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent.
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