"I understand, Sir," replied Davies, drawing a little aside. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t understand why I wanted you to come here?” “Not a bit of it,” said Ann Veronica stoutly.
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