Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. “When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. "But McClintock agrees to take you both—because he's as big a fool as I am. “Your name and address in his pocket was no delusion,” he said sharply. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. He had “put his foot down,” and said she must not go. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. Do you know, Ann Veronica, it is all a lie about your birth certificate; a forgery—and fooling at that. You only mean a secret for a little time?” “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes. I tried it myself, Sir.
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