Winter came at the manor. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. He was beautiful and perfect, his blue eyes smiling at her. “Have you got to keep her now?” “To the best of my ability,” said Mr. “Absolutely platonically,” she said. .
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