After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. Still no sound. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. You're an angel of goodness. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. On one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, Anne, had been pinned over the portrait of William the Third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen.
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