My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. And I want you for myself—for my wife. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. “Very well,” he said, “I will go. As the movie reached its predictable apex, she clutched his right knee in a careful imitation of fear. ’ The idiocy of it all irritated Melusine. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. But that is men all over. That was something in his favour. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy.
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