Mr. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. ' He muttered it continually. There was more shouting. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. " "Law! Miss," observed the maid, "there's nothing mischievous in the person's appearance, I'm sure. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. " "Pray cease these compliments," returned Winifred, "and, if you have any communication to make, do not delay it. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. He pulled away. CHAPTER XXIV. ’ ‘I was called in, ma’am, to catch a French spy—at least, that is what Pottiswick thought. The baby crawled towards them, seeking their blood.
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