" "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely.
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