“And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. Manning, in his entirely different dialect, indorsed her brother Roddy’s view of things. The doctor would naturally offer a hundred objections; he might seriously interfere; so he must be forestalled. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. "Ruth, you must not come and sit on the threshold. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. ‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. "See how glad he is!" His irony and displeasure subsided.
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