Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. “I’ve never been prone to them. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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