‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know. She had the dowry she needed for the lawyers were working to give her Remenham House. He tried to make love to me. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel.
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