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She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it. He would always be her friend, too. 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. "When is he to suffer?" she demanded, fixing her large black eyes, which burnt with an insane gleam, upon him. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. “Every one.
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