Ann Veronica had no answer for a moment. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. “I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. Every one turned to her in astonishment. “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair.
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