“You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. “Put her in the trunk. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. The day had become suddenly overcast. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. It was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. She had to wait some minutes in an outer office, wherein three young men of spirited costume and appearance regarded her with ill-concealed curiosity and admiration. “Sydney is quite right, Miss Pellissier,” he said.
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