‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. She expanded that. You are nothing of the sort. Very doubtful. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. ‘What you can do, Lucy, rather than make enquiries, is introduce me to this comte and comtesse. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. Ask your own conscience. He seemed to be thinking hard.
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