‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly. She recoiled. “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. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. She perceived she had never really thought of any one but herself in all her acts and plans. Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said.
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