She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. ” “Yes, but men;” said Ann Veronica, plunging; “don’t you want the love of men?” For some seconds they remained silent, both shocked by this question. I don’t. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. .
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