She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. “Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. You see, the plain fact of the case is that I think I am too young and ignorant for marriage. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly. ” “No,” said Ann Veronica, offhandedly. Hill,” she said graciously.
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