Old pupil. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be his restrained and dignified friend. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving.
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