“If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. ” She looked down at the flowers, still in shock, and gently laid them over her arm like a Miss America candidate practicing a crowning ceremony at a pajama party. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. ’ ‘Why the devil should you be interested, I should like to know?’ rejoined Roding. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica.
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