“You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée,—a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue,—which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin.
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