She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. “It is, if anything, a little above the average,” Brendon admitted. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. Spurling.
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