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He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. Meantime, O'Higgins wended his way to the Victoria, mulling over this and that phase, all matters little and big that bore upon the chase. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. Ann Veronica found herself in the presence of the most disconcerting fact in human experience, the kindliness of people you believe to be thoroughly wrong. He could scarcely blame her. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. This was good. ‘Idiot. Honestly, I never did. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago—the Lord help her.
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