Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. All the influences about her worked with her own predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. Voilà tout. ‘And why have you not arrested him? Do not tell me you have allowed him to escape you. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband.
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