“My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. ’ He thought a wary look came into her face, but it was difficult to be sure. I hate children. His guardian angel warned Spurlock to speak carefully. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. She looked paler than ever; but her countenance, though bewildered, did not exhibit the alarm which might naturally have been anticipated from the strange and perplexing scene presented to her view.
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