The man’s passion was infectious. ” “It’s very kind of you—” began Ann Veronica. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. It was never intended that I should marry Monsieur Valade, but after the tragedy—’ her eyes darkening in genuine distress ‘—and that he was the only survivor, he came to me in the convent and married me, and brought me to England. She took it for granted Ann Veronica wore stays—mild stays, perhaps, but stays, and thought no more of the matter. I think that WAS decision. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. " "Well, take a chair," rejoined Kneebone.
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