He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. So Monday, when I see one of the maids come out with a basket, for to go fetch summat for that other Frenchie—the female as I told you about, miss, as is forever coming and going with the nobs. Then he had gone away. Because I’m younger than you. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Her state of mind would have seemed altogether discreditable to her grandmother. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. Ann Veronica was in their very forefront.
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