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On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. Wood, then, beheld two persons, one of whom he recognised as Rowland, spring on board the chase. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. “It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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