“It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward. And to think that man got it all out of the poorest little love-story for a respectable titled lady! Have you read of it?” “Never. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself.
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