"I must have dropped it when I took out my note-book. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. He had heard nothing. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face.
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