The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. There was no one else in the doorway. The girl regarded him with the face of a Sphinx. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. Do you know that he is very much in love with you?” Anna smiled.
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