She felt herself getting into a corner. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. ‘It is you who is the fool,’ she threw at him, whipping round again. "Very well, Mr. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. “You must tell me the truth, please.
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