He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. S. Nigel Ennison was he. Rank ingratitude, I call it. ” He bit, feeling the numb desire to maul her. I want to make my own selection. She'll have this hour always with her; and you failed her.
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