Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. Schoolgirl. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. “I do not blame him. ” “We will go to a very quiet place,” he assured her, “a place where I have often taken my own sisters. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. But her heart kept on sinking. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. The very sight of these impediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than Sheppard's—but nothing could daunt him. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. “She told you that?” “Yes.
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