He took up his hat and went. It is Thérèse. “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. You didn’t even do that Vee; not even that. “He says you are frigid, Madame. Only she sent me a message, and together we found a cottage for her to stay at. After the dance, they went to a party. Not I.
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