‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. ’ ‘Gad, but she’s a beauty,’ gasped Hilary, and slammed his sword back in its scabbard. She paused for a moment. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. Then suddenly, in front of all those windows, he folded her in his arms and pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting face. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town.
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