The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ” She took a step. “But I am at singing-pitch. I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. ‘He arst me to find him someone who might go with you. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed.
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