” “I don’t know who you are,” Ennison said quietly, “but you are a thundering liar. '—'Oh! yes we are,' says he. That is what my mother used to call me. "I do," replied Sheppard. ’ But I made sure it was you. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. "Five guineas. ” “I don’t care if it does,” said Ann Veronica. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent.
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