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. You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman—you wear different clothes, you have the air of another world. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. She decided to leave this matter until the morrow and devote the morning to settling up with Mr. "Where's Thames?" he hastily inquired. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. "Not proud in the least, I declare.
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