‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. “Steady on!” he cried. His hair was thick and brown and his skin was fair. Nevertheless, Ann Veronica found it a difficult matter not to think of these things. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being.
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