Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. He rose, steadied himself, then walked out of the dining room. ’ ‘Probably not. "Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. You fell in at once with her quixotic and damnable scheme of foisting her reputation and her follies upon your shoulders whilst she marries a rich man and commences all over again a life of selfish pleasure. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive.
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