“Don’t worry, Julian. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. “Tell me,” he said; “speak to me. I have only one question to ask you.
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