“Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. Michelle’s eyes were red and bloodshot. “You are really a good Samaritan,” she declared. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Perhaps she was. " Just then, the infant began to sob piteously. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. Now keep still. Recollect that.
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