That was the glorious if bewildering truth. "I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. You can have no shecrets from me. I shall always be kind to him; I sha'n't bait him. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders. “It’s precious unromantic.
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