For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. “I find the two inseparable. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it. " "Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. The Wastrel did not relish this. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. We shall be torn in pieces if we are discovered. ‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. There was a gulf of eight years between her and the youngest of her brace of sisters—an impassable gulf inhabited chaotically by two noisy brothers. "Not entirely," replied Jonathan, calmly; "though I shouldn't be ashamed of it if it were. .
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