’ ‘Don’t start arguing again, for God’s sake,’ snapped Roding irritably, dragging out his own large pocket-handkerchief. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Good-looking girl. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. Ann Veronica blushed. She would write to Gerald. “Impossible to say,” he answered. Then, naturally, I went on talking. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances.
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