"I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred. If Ann Veronica could have put words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. I don’t. ‘Eh bien. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. He would know her address to-morrow.
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