Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. She backed away from him. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days. This lady is my wife, and I have a right to be here. Only an undermaid I was then. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. “I am not dependent upon any one.
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