It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. Parbleu, but she was a fool. .
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