“Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. ‘It is imbecile that you are. ' That has always haunted me. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. It was a reputation by no means deserved. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. ” Everything was good. “Don’t!” she begged. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. Don't be afraid, man,—off with it.
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