But that possibility had been anticipated. She could feel her face turning beet red. They are arbitrary and unjust and dogmatic and brutish and lustful. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. “Ferringhall, were you or were you not dining last night at a certain restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes with—la petite Pellissier?” Now indeed Sir John was moved. 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. . . I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled. She must learn wisdom—as God pleases. You’ll end up dead, that’s what. She did not question or analyze the craving; she took the plunge joyously.
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