Her husband was prouder of her every day. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. Let us walk about. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. You’re like some splendid Princess in Exile in these Dreadful Dingy apartments!” “I’m afraid I’m anything but a Princess when it comes to earning a salary,” said Ann Veronica.
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