“She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. But some people have no consideration. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. He addressed the boy as Jay. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. I call upon you to assist me in the apprehension of this person. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard.
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