Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. “You are unjust and quixotic, Anna, you have no right to treat any one as you are treating me. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. .
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