She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. Once a week, every Saturday, they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica. . The thought had not even occurred to him. “We parted— that night the best of friends. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see.
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