Her aunt had a once exasperating habit of interrupting her work with demands for small household services, but now Ann Veronica rendered them with a queer readiness of anticipatory propitiation. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. Opening the door, he found it littered with straw, on which he threw himself, and instantly fell asleep. Free! All the fine ecstasy, without the numbing terror. “I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. Before our marriage there will be no life between you and the estates. That is very bad, certainly, and for this he was extremely sorry.
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