"And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. There was little more here than a sideboard, a chest for the vestments, and a simple wooden chair.
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