CHAPTER XVIII. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. Mr. ‘Suzanne, if I may say, had also not the choice. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself.
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