’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. There was a hint of tears in her voice. Kneebone,—pray go!" implored Winifred. ” “Auntie?” asked Constance, who was conversant with Ann Veronica’s affairs.
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