“She’s my wife,” the man muttered. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction. “There’s no end of things I’d like to talk over with you. ” “You are not going to that ball! You are not going out of this house in that getup!” Ann Veronica tried yet more earnestly to treat him, as she would treat any man, with an insistence upon her due of masculine respect. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. She was finally dead, going to Hell. Immediately she had spoken of the loose button he knew that henceforth he must show no concern over the disposition of that coat. It shall be done as you direct.
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