And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. ‘You imbecile. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. She had no idea what she should do. That is why I have dyed my hair, that is why I have abandoned my rôle of ingenuèe and altered my whole style of dress. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. ’ ‘Precisely.
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