A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears. The policy of this step was immediately apparent. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. "I suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won't come," he remarked.
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