"You have forgotten your knife, Mr. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. Along the inner side was a wonderfully arranged series of displayed specimens that Russell himself had prepared. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. It happened that at the extremest point of Ann Veronica’s social circle from the Widgetts was the family of the Morningside Park horsedealer, a company of extremely dressy and hilarious young women, with one equestrian brother addicted to fancy waistcoats, cigars, and facial spots.
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