At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. “LOOKS all right,” said Ann Veronica, regarding him with her head first on one side and then on the other, and trying to be agreeable. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. I trust you will not accuse me of discourtesy if I express my pleasure that henceforth our ways will lie apart. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. She hoped desperately that Mrs. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. .
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