She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Why ever did you let me get into that wagonette?” “I thought we had to,” said Ann Veronica, who had also been a little under the compulsion of the marshals of the occasion. I can’t imagine what possessed you, Veronica. “Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. . From me. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean.
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