He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. Lucy stood in front of the piano. Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. Then he looked across at Mrs Sindlesham. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. The aunt laughed. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. “I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. And after that Alice became remoter than ever, and, after a time, ill. I was raised in the Church. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you.
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