Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. They don’t now. Then the inner door opened abruptly. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. And a time will come, Veronica, mark my words, a time will come when you will bless me for my firmness to-night.
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