“Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. He sat down. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. He called a waiter.
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