Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. 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. “It was fine and brave of you. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault.
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