I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. “It is just six o’clock now. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too.
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