Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. It seems to me exactly what is wanted. . . ” She taunted. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. Things happen to women—proper women—and all they have to do is to take them well. “I expect it is pretty well in shreds by now. “I ought to have done anything! “What’s a man for? “Friendship!” He doubled up his fist, and seemed to contemplate thrusting it through the window. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. “You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle.
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