“Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. ‘Though he didn’t mean it.
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