At half after five that afternoon the doctor and his friend McClintock entered the office of the Victoria. Gerald grinned. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. He had been reading Belfort Bax, and declared himself a convert. ‘But you cannot expect that we will any of us remain altogether quiet,’ objected Melusine. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. The man pulled up.
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