“You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. “I shall be very glad to have you for a friend,” he said, “loving friend. We will go to Ostend by the early morning boat and choose a hiding place from there. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse.
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