” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. Never be downhearted. If so I shall have to leave. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive. I am engaged to sing every evening at the ‘Unusual’ music hall. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. Spurlock knew exactly what he was doing, however: speculative mischief, to see how she would act.
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