Her efforts were vain. She’s obsessed with him, you know, totally obsessed. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. ‘I know that, miss. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness.
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