. . She taught him all the lore she had; about bird-life and tree-life and the changing mysteries of the sea. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. “For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. ‘Come, I told you I wish to know everything about you. It will be horribly dull, and she is a very trying person. ‘I know just what he was doing. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. I can't invent; the thing won't come. The girl only smiled at him serenely, but she laid her hand for a moment quietly upon his. At present I cannot marry, I will not become bound even to any one. .
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