‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. “One can’t tell. Your purposes are defeated. Towards night, however, he ventured out, and walked on towards London. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately.
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