’ ‘Don’t be stuffy, Hilary,’ admonished his betrothed. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. Annabel entered. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. ’ ‘Willingly?’ ‘Parbleu, what a person you think me. He was caked with dried muck.
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