She stood up before him, smiling faintly. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. As her belly swelled, so did he. ‘I must. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. ” “Not now. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment.
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