Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. ‘Now I see why you’re marrying this woman, Hilary. Get it off your soul. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in.
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