She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. ‘Then I don’t advise you to visit Remenham House. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing.
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