“Mike, that’s not even remotely funny. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. I ought never to have thought of it. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. The coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance.
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