" "Impossible, Sir," replied Ireton, greatly alarmed. Going involved two things that all Ann Veronica’s tact had been ineffectual to conceal from her aunt and father. She is, in her way, a dear. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. There was no one else in the doorway. Her father had determined on a new line. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing.
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