CHAPTER XXVI. "Yes—what do you mean, Ma'am?" added Jack, staggering after her. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. She felt herself shaking again. Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her father’s regard. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Most unsatisfactory. Expiation. Practically all. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God.
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