“At the Tredgold Women’s College,” said Ann Veronica. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to sew it on. Will I meet you there?’ ‘Yes, yes, I shall await you. Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. He was aware of trying to scream because he was paralyzed and his legs would not move. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. "But I'm a blackguard, too, Ruth. “Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping.
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