My friend the doctor suspected it, and so do I. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. “You knew it,” he added, in her momentary silence. He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. 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’ve been clearing up,” said Ann Veronica, brightly. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. Her stifled misery had betrayed her. ‘This is not love, Marthe.
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