A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ” “I’ve been clearing up,” said Ann Veronica, brightly. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell. ’ ‘What, Madame Valade?’ demanded Gerald.
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