“I have been very selfish,” she declared. In your heart you know quite well that all that you have said is useless. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable. But one day he came to me. ’ “Crude, I admit.
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