“You are developing far too retentive a memory for praises,” said Ann Veronica. The windows were grated, the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer, with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood. Perhaps she would have to charge this man and appear in a police-court next day. Mr. I was certain of it. And, if ever I'm brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong.
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