Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Old pupil. So they fenced with smiles. “But who’s going to pay for the room?” “I’ve got money,” said Ann Veronica. I——” Then he stopped short, for he began to remember things.
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