"My head fairly turns round. ” The topic of his invalid wife bored him, and he turned at once to Ann Veronica. He was asleep. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. Not only that, but he is here in London. I tell you what, Mr.
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