" "Mad as you are, you're the more sensible of the two, I must say," rejoined Jonathan. ” “Possibly—bit by bit. ‘Bête!’ Gerald caught her hand as she pulled it back to deliver another blow. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences. And think things out. He resumed his listening. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes.
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