Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. Jack attacked Jonathan with such fury, that he drove him into a shrubbery, and might perhaps have come off the victor, if his foot had not slipped as he made a desperate lunge. In their opinion a hundred pounds would not repair the damage done to the prison. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. .
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