“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. “I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. And Pottiswick, of course. “You!” said Ann Veronica. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. Close upon this came another thought. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray.
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