Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. “You’re very nice, both of you,” she said gently. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. The truth at once flashed across his mind. "Bless your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. Come home alone. You sent back my Christmas checks. " "I cannot consent to it," replied Sir Rowland firmly. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. She was in deadly earnest in everything she did. ” “I don’t care.
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