” “H’m!” said Ann Veronica, and shook her head. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. ’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. ” He declared that no book could be satisfactory that left a bad taste in the mouth, however much it seized and interested the reader at the time.
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