” “You are sure that he asked for me—not for Annabel?” “Certain,” Courtlaw answered. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. Bah. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding.
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