Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. Tell Bess to slip out, and I'll put on her cloak and hood. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. She obeyed, extending her arm. Come and have lunch with me.
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