As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. It was then that the young man entered his thought with some permanency: because there was no apparent reason for his joining the tour, since from the beginning he had shown no interest in anything. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. She was practically destitute of jewellery. Life seemed a very brave and glorious enterprise to Ann Veronica that day. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. “You had only to ask——” “Do you think,” Anna interrupted, with a note of passion trembling also in her tone, “that I would have taken alms from Sir John, the man to whom I had lied for your sake.
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