Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. We’ll make short work of them. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. “It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. He would repeat them innumerable times, and patiently Ruth would repeat her answers.
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