"The natives have foolish ways of saying things. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. It was perfectly legitimate. She said”—Ann Veronica shivered again—“‘I hope it won’t make you uncomfortable, my dear’—like that—‘and whatever you do, do be careful of your hair!’ I think—I judge from her manner—that she thought it was just a little indelicate of us—considering everything; but she tried to be practical and sympathetic and live down to our standards. My eyes are open to you. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone.
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