He was absolutely unable to focus his ideas. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. ” There came a silence again. “I suppose I should let go if I had. We are not animals. Mind you don't stir till supper's over.
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