The kindly American consul-general had himself taken her to the bank, where her banknotes had been exchanged for a letter of credit, and had thoroughly advised her. Fortescue tried to act embarrassment in order to conceal its reality, and Ann Veronica went on to ask a string of questions about acting, and whether her sister would act, and was she beautiful enough for it, and who would make her dresses, and so on. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. . . “I HAVE—had one or two talks with him, daddy.
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