Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Too busy. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. They don’t count, and I don’t care. By-the-bye,” he added, in a suddenly altered tone, “I hope, I trust—that you have not entered into any arrangements with any one here?” “I—oh no!” Anna said, a little faintly. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. 'He that woos a maid',— fol-de-rol—(hiccupping). “Is there any urgency?” The doctor bent over his patient, who seemed to have fallen asleep. She was honest again.
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