Yon must be mine to-night. “I refuse. " "If I disobey you, Sir Rowland," replied the thief-taker, "you'll thank me for it hereafter. ” He said, his voice tinged with worry. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on.
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