” “You are jealous,” she declared contemptuously. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night. He slapped his knee. ” “This,” Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, “reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. By the side of her plate was a small key. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her.
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