Mr. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. ” “Oh, Drummond’s dinner!” she repeated. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. But—he was cleverer than any of you. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations.
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