\" She knew he was blushing in the dark. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday'—that's two days ago,—'hasn't been heard of since. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire.
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