“I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. ‘Not care? For this he must be an Englishman tout à fait sympathique, and— and I know only. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. You must say farewell to her, for I cannot. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars.
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