. . I suspect she knew something, for she came home to Remenham House when she was increasing, and report has it that she was very unhappy. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious.
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