"Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. It was not the type of household where one could come and go at all hours, for this she was glad. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. “How would you know?” Michelle’s interest was piqued.
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