“I changed my last shilling yesterday. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. She confronted him with his own double-standard. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. “Something.
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