“The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. “Look here,” he cried out of a silence, with a sudden flash of understanding, “did you mean to throw me over when you came out with me this afternoon?” Ann Veronica hesitated, and with a startled mind realized the truth. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr.
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