‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. His attitude was as different from Gianfrancesco’s as night was from day. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. Your aunt liked the pheasant. John did not see her until the last period. “Are you serious?” “You know very well that I should never joke on such a subject. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong. " "Uh-huh. ” “It’s gone.
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