He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. She did not think Ann Veronica would do as her companion. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. "This is strange," said Jack, under his breath. Everything in the world had changed for her. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. Only a son’s another story. CHAPTER XXXI.
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