“I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. But, this sad affair disposed of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents. The knife is at my breast. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within. Nobody can anticipate your next move. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. “I am afraid your broken dinner engagement will not be so easy to explain.
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