Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. Sir John followed me to London and married me. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. She is no longer mine; she is yours. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream.
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