There's our young friend upstairs. ” Lucy wanted badly to believe her. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica.
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