“I will not ask you to explain further. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. “Quite on my own,” she said. ’ The lady sighed and spread her hands. His name was Peter. The next weekend arrived and she made her decision. “But I am your husband,” he said. .
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