CHAPTER XXI. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. "I am content," said Jack. 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. There was no longer any risk in association with her. Her dress, it has just been said, was neatness and simplicity itself.
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