I fought. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. But she had loved the man. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound.
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