She could not stir hand or foot. So the young fool had not told her! McClintock had suspected as much. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. The thought of beauty became an obsession. I shall always be kind to him; I sha'n't bait him. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. “Put her in the trunk. That's the only fault I know of. .
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