The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. I have done n-nothing. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. ” Anna shook hands with Brendon—a young man also, but older and more selfpossessed than Sydney Courtlaw. "I thought as much," continued Jonathan. At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel.
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