Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. And don't neglect my instructions this time. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. And this idiot, he has threatened to arrest me and make them take me to prison. John, I have something to say to you. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively.
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