“We sent for you several hours ago,” he remarked. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. Attempt to molest me, and I split. She was honest again. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up.
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