There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr. Well, I am Nigel Ennison’s sister!” “Oh!” Anna said. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. The little matter of an accent may be misleading, I grant you, but —’ He was interrupted, and with impatience. All the furniture was moved, all the meals were disarranged, and everybody, Ann Veronica included, appeared in new, bright costumes. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly.
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