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CHAPTER XI. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. I spend many delightful hours thinking of the pleasant and beautiful things of life. " "Thieves!" exclaimed Mrs. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. "But, it strikes me, I've heard that Mrs. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself.
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