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“Agreed,” he said, “certainly,” and drew a checkbook toward him. ” “Couldn’t I make a treaty?” Ann Veronica thought, and could not see any possible treaty that would leave it open for her to have quasi-surreptitious dinners with Ramage or go on walking round the London squares discussing Socialism with Miss Miniver toward the small hours. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. But it was her proof. I say again, grace à vous. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude.
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