Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute or so. Sir John stood upon the threshold. As Wood obeyed, his foot slipped; and, casting his eyes upon the floor, he perceived it splashed in several places with blood. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue, and Annabel alias ‘Alcide’ a dancer at the cafés chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which were true. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. “Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him.
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