She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. He uttered her name and his excitement grew when he did not feel a bra. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. I know why.
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