“To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. He recoiled from the sting. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows. He glanced up. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. If Ann Veronica could have put words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. I want to give you time to think.
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