“Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. , British merchants with branches all over the East. ” “Have I done something wrong? Should I take you home?” “No. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. That would be an unkind twist of fate. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty.
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