But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for. “What makes you ask such a question, Vee?” she said. Who is to say that I am not André Valade, an obscure relation of the late vicomte. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. "Your ladyship is far too unwell to travel," remarked the female attendant, assisting her to rise; "you'll never be able to reach Manchester.
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