Something has changed her tremendously. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. And we won’t make it so. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. She has been a dear. We both understood that. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain.
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