Ann Veronica listened thoughtfully, with her eyes on the turf, and now and then she asked a question or looked up to discuss a point. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. Her prevailing effect was one of quiet and complete assurance, as though she knew all about everything, and was only restrained by her instinctive delicacy from telling what she knew. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. The arrest of this person is of consequence to me. It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged his mind.
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