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You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. “You can’t imagine,” he said, “what a beastly thing a furtive love affair can be. ‘But I have told you. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding.
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