“Lucy, you have to play for us after dinner, oh please. That Mr. ‘Go on up to the boy, my dear. “Look at me. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse.
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