Out of these he selected a faded parchment and restored the rest to safety. “You had no right—” panted Ann Veronica. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. But not so much a pig as that man.
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