Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. This was rather too much to expect; for we all know, if Mr. Wood fancied he recognised. “I hope you have not come for that. But he can't have his eyes always about him, or he'd have been with us this morning at the Mint, eh, Mr. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. But I sent him the longest way about. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. ” She paused.
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