Afraid there'll be a love-affair. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. But when she spoke her lips quivered, and they came. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. “You yourself have decided that—apart from the question of Annabel. But what affair is this of yours?’ But Captain Roding was not attending. I am tired, and I want to be alone.
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