“I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. ” “No,” said Ann Veronica, offhandedly. She had never been so happy to vomit. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. There was a hint of tears in her voice. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. At the bottom of the trunk I found two of my mother's dresses. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous.
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