And yet—I love you. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. ” “And in Paris——” “In Paris,” he interrupted, “she was a very delightful companion, but beyond that —one did not take her seriously. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. "A missioner! That illuminates everything. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. ” When Ann Veronica could attend again she found the men were discussing the ethics of the depreciation of house property through the increasing tumult of traffic in the West End, and agreeing with each other to a devastating extent. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions.
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