"Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. They were silent for a time. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Nobody who cared. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. That’s the fact about them. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling. The reddish-haired young man contributed allusions to the Hegelian philosophy that momentarily confused the discussion.
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