She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. A brief calm succeeded. ‘By the by, get Trodger to send up one of our best men, will you? Someone discreet. “Is it your maid?” he asked. . At the opening of the van doors and the emergence into the fresh air Ann Veronica’s doubt and depression gave place to the wildest exhilaration.
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