” He looked at her pleadingly. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. She hesitated. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. ” “Relaxation, perhaps. You know you do, Annabel. ’ ‘I also said, if you remember, that I could not promise not to do so. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking.
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