“Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. “And if I were you I would keep away from the fire. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. He doesn't resemble you at all. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister exchange identities?” “There is one answer to all those questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder.
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