” “No,” said Ann Veronica, offhandedly. A few more minutes, and she was safe. “I had a faint idea once that things were as you say they are, but the affair of the ring—of the unexpected ring—puzzled me. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. For a few minutes all was silent. . The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. ‘Gammon.
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