Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Drummond took up a cigarette and lit it. ” “Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. " "Poh! poh!" rejoined Ireton; "it was mere idle boasting. " "I'm going to put one question," interrupted the doctor. ’ ‘What if she goes back to Charvill?’ demanded Roding. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. Suffer me to precede you. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ protested Hilary angrily. The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ann Veronica, by H.
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