But never mind that. “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. Anna sent her away. Capes had altered scarcely at all during the interval, except for a new quality of smartness in the cut of his clothes, but Ann Veronica was nearly half an inch taller; her face was at once stronger and softer, her neck firmer and rounder, and her carriage definitely more womanly than it had been in the days of her rebellion. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. “You blithering idiot!” he exclaimed. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon.
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