“Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. Alone; not even the dog to warn her, and Hoddy deep in the island somewhere. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. The thing is to get the patient on his feet. " "Let me see. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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