Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. I did not know how he would act if I obstructed him. ” Ann Veronica was doing her best to follow him. Annabel ignored both the chair and the invitation. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
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