I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. He had done this a dozen times on the way from his office. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. I let him take me to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. \"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. Without you, we might have had some trouble. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. En tout cas, why had he not returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite retreat. Stanley.
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