He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. I know South America and Canada like the lines in my hand. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. “Nor am I now,” he answered. Ann Veronica’s appearance was brief and undistinguished. .
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