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. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London. I—I am a lovesick idiot, and not accountable for my actions. " But Thames had no intention of following his friend's advice. On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back a packet of letters, magazines, and newspapers. She refused to eat. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Rich folks, once. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister.
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