“Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. This was no light conquest; nor was it a government easily maintained. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. The whole place and everything in it aimed at one thing—to illustrate, to elaborate, to criticise and illuminate, and make ever plainer and plainer the significance of animal and vegetable structure. “Is it your maid?” he asked. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle.
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