But I'm not worrying about that. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and eyes, and a style about her, too. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. She has married some one he could not approve of, and gone right away. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. But in a moment she believed she understood. "Do you still refuse to make one!" "I have made one," replied Lady Trafford. All right really. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy.
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