What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. Between his lectures—and primarily he was an itinerant lecturer—he manoeuvred in vain to acquire some facts regarding the girl, who she was, whence she had come; but always she countered with: "What is that?" Guileless she might be; simple, never. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable.
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