" The lemons had enormously thick skins and were only mildly acidulous—sweet lemons, they were called; and one found them delicious by dipping the slices in sugar. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it.
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