“Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. “I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope. Sadly, the Christmas break came to an end. You may have to carry them further and longer than you think. A young man with shiny frock coat and very high collar, advanced towards her languidly. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. "And so shall I," replied Edgeworth Bess. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home.
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