” When the next holidays came Ann Veronica’s mother was ill, and Gwen was in the sick-room when Ann Veronica returned home. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. I've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never will be again. Spurlock was by nature orderly, despite his literary activities. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. The perfume was the only one she ever used.
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