Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. ‘Come inside at once, child. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room.
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