‘Oh, are there? You are not quite alone in these adventures of yours, I take it. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. ” She paused for a moment. She was wan and white. Earles attended her obsequiously to the door. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. Before her was a great Gothic portal.
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