But Jonathan was not to be deterred. It’s a damned hard thing to do. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. I am already too much flattered that you should have given me your confidence. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not.
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