The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. She continued to fan herself. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid.
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