"No," answered Jack, approaching her, "though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. After all, it came to him suddenly as a harsh discovery that she might be in a sense regarded as grownup. It was the moment for smiles. But he tells them that I am a spy. Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. Here, put it on your finger. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. “Would YOU like us—if some one told you the bare outline of our story?— and what we are doing?” “I shouldn’t mind,” said Ann Veronica.
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