Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. There were menacing possibilities; the thought of them set him a-tremble. “I should like to understand you,” he said. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. . ’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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