“To Paris! But why? What do you hope to discover there?” “I do not know,” he answered, “but I am going to see David Courtlaw. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. Manning, in an earnest voice, and waved his hand to the alley of mauve and purple. I cannot let you go.
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