“Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. “Certainly. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual.
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