Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. The owner was at the door unhooking a few articles of wearing apparel which he had exposed outside for sale. “That is very nice of you,” she said. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound.
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