“You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Stay where you are, Mr. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. Obeying some fine instinct, she had come to the prison in a dark veil, but she had pushed this up to kiss Ann Veronica and never drawn it down again.
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