” Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a possible knowledge of a probable poem. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. I know there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight. Tell me that again. ” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes.
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