CHAPTER V At dinner the spinsters invited Ruth to sit at their table, an invitation she accepted gratefully. She opened and read it at once. ‘Don’t concern yourself, Hilary. Sheppard. ” Hill closed his eyes. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. He carried a small bag. Kneebone smiled assent. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. "He hash a long journey before him—ha! ha!" "Peace!" cried Jonathan.
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