"Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. “I thought we had discussed that, father. Nobody will ever know what the fleas thought. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. ” That simple statement of the case was by no means all that went on in Ann Veronica’s mind. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman.
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