The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. Even now she was dazed. The little room was fragrant with flowers, Anna herself bright, and with all the evidences of well being. They were terrible, horrible people. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. Then go and fetch this daughter of yourn. “You told me that your name was Meysey Hill. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink.
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