The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. But, moving through into the first of the large main rooms that led one into another around the house, with here and there an antechamber between, it was obvious that the task was not going to be easy. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box.
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