‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. You are different from all the world for me. You have not forgotten——” “I have forgotten nothing?” he answered, enigmatically. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. .
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