She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. Only how had they missed him? Were they imbecile? Or perhaps the mists had concealed him from them. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. “Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. “It is very, very difficult,” she continued, looking steadfastly at the ground. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time.
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