It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. ” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. Capes would come to these teas; he evidently liked to come, and he would appear in the doorway of the preparation-room, a pleasing note of shyness in his manner, hovering for an invitation. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. His eyes were red. Almost the best of all. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful.
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