" "I should like to satisfy myself on that score," rejoined Wild, drily. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. I struck him across the face, twisted the steering wheel of the motor, sprang out myself, and left him for dead on the road with the motor on top of him. "I began to fear, from his having quitted the old place, that some misfortune must have befallen him. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Hope reared. Old Bedlam. For the present the desire to fly was gone.
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