A curious silence ensued. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome. Take care he don't see you,—and bring me word where he goes, and what he does. She had seen for herself right up in the bedroom window with her binoculars when Joanie was gone shopping one night, right with her own eyes. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. And now— I suppose I should be considered too old.
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