A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. He, next cautiously tried the door, but found it fastened inside. “Would they make her Queen?” She asked innocently. It was at the top of the building, and looked clear over a clustering mass of inferior buildings toward Regent’s Park.
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