Part 6 When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. And, yet, I don't know. Annabel watched her with wide-open, terrified eyes. They were only passers-by. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik.
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