’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. Spurlock slept on. This time there wasn't any doubt. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. “Curious case—and sets one thinking. . "My child! my child!" exclaimed Mrs. ’ ‘I swear to you, it is the exact truth,’ he protested. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage.
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