Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. . A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. Earles asked sharply. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. For a time Spurlock did not move. She reached for the door handle.
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