They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. Do not oppose it, and I will serve you. He rested on one elbow. “No,” she answered, reluctantly. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. ‘C’est ridicule. Annabel had been here then. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him.
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