” Ann Veronica agreed, and tried to make the manner of her assent cover a possible knowledge of a probable poem. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. ” “I had some unexpected business,” Courtlaw answered shortly.
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