‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. I’ve bored you or something. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. She said”—Ann Veronica shivered again—“‘I hope it won’t make you uncomfortable, my dear’—like that—‘and whatever you do, do be careful of your hair!’ I think—I judge from her manner—that she thought it was just a little indelicate of us—considering everything; but she tried to be practical and sympathetic and live down to our standards. I loathe this room.
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