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CHAPTER XVIII. “Please stop fighting me. “Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. For an instant, Melusine watched him go. What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. Now you haven’t the ghost of one—not if you play the game fair. You remember that you saw us at the Savoy a few evenings ago?” “Yes. Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope. They had shared almost seventy five wonderful years there in nearly utter seclusion before it came time to move on. .
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