“This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. But it was now too late to turn back, and, nerving himself for the shock he expected to encounter, he ventured after his conductor. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view. ” Anna showed him the way.
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