A person of somewhat artificial graces and mannerisms, she was for once in her life perfectly natural. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. “I don’t see at all how you can be managing,” said Miss Stanley, and Ann Veronica hastened to reply, “I do on very little. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Howard Taber. ’ ‘Don’t call me by name,’ she snapped.
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