She was silent. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. He embraced her like her father once had. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. But he would make it a point not to speak again to the girl. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted.
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