She was trembling a little. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. They send you every good wish. Pig and brute! Yet calling him hard names would not help her. She did not open the Bible but laid it on the edge of the bed, knelt and rested her forehead upon the worn leather cover. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love.
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