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CHAPTER XXII. The servants had left the room. The doctor said you wrote. “I doubted my luck, at least. For a few moments Mr. . Mr. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. ‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. But one day he came to me.
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