“Oh, Veronica!” she said, “to leave your home!” She had been weeping. Tell him the truth, Annabel. Yon must be mine to-night. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. It was Annabel who caught at the paper. Then came the shock of the knowledge that soon he would be going upon his way, that there would be no one to depend upon her; and all the old loneliness came smothering down upon her again. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders.
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