So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. Leave me behind: I'm not afraid. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. ‘Knowed it the instant I set eyes on her.
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