It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. At a turn in the road, he perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. She would have to leave very soon. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. I meant to give him a drubbing. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room.
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