“You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, “I’ve promised to go. I shouldn't care to express an opinion. Jack affected to close the door, but left it slightly ajar. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. I asked you to go. Oh, don't worry. After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it. Do I blow off the head of a man with whom I am in love?’ ‘That,’ said Gerald, disengaging his hand and at last drawing her into his arms, ‘deserves a reward. It was painted in the early seventeenth century by a minor artist named DuPre. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. Your aunt liked the pheasant.
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