"You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable. God bless you, anyhow!" she added, with a spontaneity which surprised Sister Angelina into uttering an individual gasp. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might.
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