Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Her fingers rested upon his. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. Lots of us are like that. His face darkened. Rollo barked. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. C. He had offered to escort the young lady to England where she might seek refuge with her relations there, and proposed that the maid Yolande might serve Miss Charvill.
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