Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to know his business. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. “My husband knows all. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. She had not seen him in two and a half centuries. The woman I wanted was another man's wife.
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