The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes vanished with it. They were exquisite. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness. Kneebone said, just now. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. I want to make my own selection. ” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. ” He smiled at her. “Thank God,” he exclaimed.
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