“Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. It was enough. Then he got up and left her. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. Yet I shall think of you to-day. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers.
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