"My child!" he groaned faintly. “But you must forgive me, John. Lucy went hunting on a Thursday night. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. "You begin to have doubts, eh? A handful of money between you, and nothing else.
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