Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments. She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. She was introduced, perhaps a little too obviously for her taste, as a girl who was standing out against her people, to a gathering that consisted of a very old lady with an extremely wrinkled skin and a deep voice who was wearing what appeared to Ann Veronica’s inexperienced eye to be an antimacassar upon her head, a shy, blond young man with a narrow forehead and glasses, two undistinguished women in plain skirts and blouses, and a middle-aged couple, very fat and alike in black, Mr. Courtlaw. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered.
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