“It’s—private. Don’t you think that the shade of my hair is lovely?” “There is nothing particular the matter with the shade,” Anna answered, “but it is not nearly so becoming as before you touched it. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. " "Rollo!" There were no locks or panelled doors in the bungalow; and Rollo was aware of it. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. Women to me are something so serene, so fine, so feminine, and politics are so dusty, so sordid, so wearisome and quarrelsome. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. His example was followed by Darrell. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. CHAPTER XXXII.
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