“I am sorry that I have murdered you. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. She had neither the semi-boisterousness of the average American girl nor the chilling insolence of the English. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. As to following, there was no one. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. . That’s the fact of the matter. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face.
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