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Part 2 Ann Veronica carried a light but business-like walking-stick. She looked from Anna, who was far too nice-looking to be travelling about alone, to that reassuring pile of luggage, and wrinkled her brows thoughtfully. "Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. Only promise me this. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. ’ ‘Some of them more pleasurable than others, I take it.
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