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. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. The vicomte must be well known to those high-born who have gone to England. That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. ‘The major thinks she’s worth it,’ put in Prudence quietly.
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