“But I—I went to Nigel Ennison for help. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Most people, every one I know else, seem to have mated with foreigners and to talk uneasily in unfamiliar tongues, to be afraid of the knowledge the other one has, of the other one’s perpetual misjudgment and misunderstandings. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. Before I sit down, I have a toast to propose, which I am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm.
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