"He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. Something happened down there, and probably I'll never know what. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. Sindlesham tried. But at the word “home” she turned again.
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