It was that somebody had cheated you. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. “But I don’t see,” said Ann Veronica, “just how it fits the present situation. The latch had not fully caught. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters.
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