In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. " "Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night," replied Jack. Five hours later she tiptoed down the hall and paused at the threshold of what they now called his study. Come home alone. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. “I suppose, Vee, you don’t see much of those Widgetts now?” “I go in and talk to Constance sometimes.
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