They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself.
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