The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. They WERE weird. Nor my grandfathers both. He looked at her reproachfully. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. .
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