“Odd!” he remarked, rather surprisingly, after a little interval. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. I daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald. What can a girl do? Somewhere at this point Ann Veronica’s speculations were interrupted and turned aside by the approach of a horse and rider. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. But the offences I have committed are venial in comparison with what I should commit were I to wed your father. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes.
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