" "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, “to come in here. ’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. Old Bedlam. ” John looked at her sympathetically. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. She was crushed with a sense of her own terrible impotency. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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