I'm no mollycoddle. Listen to me, Winifred. ” When the next holidays came Ann Veronica’s mother was ill, and Gwen was in the sick-room when Ann Veronica returned home. Ennison started and looked anxiously at Anna. To reach the door they had to pass the end of the table, and behind the chair where Mr. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion.
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