"To-morrow I will take you to him. Will you take it in to him?” The young man smiled in a superior manner. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. Wood turned to look at him. ” “You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a year by my own labours. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper.
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