My trouble is with your sister. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt.
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