‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Ann Veronica looked up at him and found him regarding her with eyes that were almost woebegone, and into which, indeed, he was trying to throw much more expression than they could carry. Sheppard, distractedly. "Oh! nothing at all," answered Jack, sneeringly, "though this room's as much mine as yours, for that matter.
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