His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. All the precious paintings and statues of the divine family were here, as was the enormous wooden crucifix set above the altar. Sebastian had fetched tallow, which she angrily ordered him not to use, as she suspected its origin was not animal but human. The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious.
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