She was guided into the dock and prompted by a helpful police inspector. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. I have come thirteen thousand miles for this young fellow; I'm ready to go galloping thirteen thousand more. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. It felt wonderful and golden to bask in the sunlight of their approval, even if their approval was fickle and dangerous.
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