Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. How different were his present feelings compared with those he had experienced on quitting it. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. ” When the next holidays came Ann Veronica’s mother was ill, and Gwen was in the sick-room when Ann Veronica returned home. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. She could not realize what she saw.
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