“Look here,” he cried out of a silence, with a sudden flash of understanding, “did you mean to throw me over when you came out with me this afternoon?” Ann Veronica hesitated, and with a startled mind realized the truth. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. But not today. It was, in a way, something of a joke to the doctor: psychology and physiognomy on an island which white folks did not visit more than three or four times a year, only then when they had to. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. From her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. A single glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. Part 6 When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally.
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