"I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. Mr. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders. “By God!” said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life.
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