Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. " And, followed by Abraham, he rushed out of the room. Jack turned away with an aching heart. He savored the last solo, the coda. Here he was hotly pursued. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. Utter silence answered him. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. Refused admittance, they broke open the door. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art.
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