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" "No," thundered Wild. I would have heard her. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. “I’ve got bad faults. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. "Your sympathy is being wasted. ” “And you have sent him about his business. You represent to me an enigma, the solution of which has become the one desire of my life. ” He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica reading this last sentence.
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