“There is something to be said for the lady-like theory after all,” she admitted. I have been waiting a long time for a family like them. He nodded. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. “When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. Where were you married?” “At the English Embassy in Paris. At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel. 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. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
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