“Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. I would not have him know—now—for the world. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. Ann Veronica watched her and wondered about her. "Of course, there is a criminal element, but the percentage is no larger than that in America or Europe. My feelings overpower me.
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