” John said. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. ” “You came to tell me this?” “I came for you,” he declared fiercely. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. Beautiful is the girl of twelve,—who is neither child nor woman, but something between both, something more exquisite than either! Such was the fairy creature presented to Thames Darrell, under the following circumstances.
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