She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. Rollo began to cavort. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. You jumped, and I think that you left me. I am no exception. Thankfully only the children were home, so there was no one to take active notice that she had been accompanied on her way home from school. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. Look here. I've engaged to watch over you as a son, and I will do so as far as I'm able; but if you neglect my advice, what chance have I of benefitting you? On one point I've made up my mind—you shall either obey me, or leave me.
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