” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. “It is incredible. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. ’ It took several frustrating moments, working at the protrusions of the carving down the side of the bookshelves, tugging at leaves, pushing at flowers. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. He sounds to me like a soldier of fortune. Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp. CHAPTER X. ‘But with more courage in her little finger than in many another female’s entire body.
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