On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. "I know not—and care not," replied Jack. “It seems—It’s interesting. Selfishness. ‘Yes, miss. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. You are welcome to proclaim yourself ‘Alcide’ if you will. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. I don’t see how they can be. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears.
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