No one could take the place for anything but what it was, and even Gosse hesitated in the doorway. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. I would sooner see you in a ’bus again. I wonder why on earth the curtains are drawn.
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