“The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. I hated him. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. . Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. “Look here! Aren’t you going a little too far? This—this is degradation—making a fuss with sleeves. Your boyfriend. I want to give you time to think. Besides, my husband has shares in Sir John’s company. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. Cahill gave me a hall pass.
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