In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. Clientèle was of the most transitory character. But this accusation, for want of sufficient evidence, met with the same fate as the first, and Jonathan came off victorious. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away. “To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the great shrouded shapes of the furniture.
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