” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. " "I never heard of anybody who could," declared McClintock. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. There was a gentle rustling of skirts. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. Altogether, it was a hideous and revolting sight. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers.
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