She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were. He saluted awkwardly. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression.
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