"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. It feels like it. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. "Choose, Jack. ” She chilled Ann Veronica a little by that last phrase, and yet the magnetism of her fellowship and enthusiasm was very strong; and it was pleasant to be made out a heroine after so much expostulation and so many secret doubts. “My word holds,” she said. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment.
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