"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. But don't suppose, Madam, that anything I say has reference to you. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee.
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