You are somebody’s secretary, are you not?” It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once discard it. ‘She’s still bleeding. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. It struck the major that she was very young. Vorsack. Some shadow of reserve seemed to have crept up between them. He got up brusquely. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. “You must not think of me as one. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. . ’ ‘You should be happy that you are not dead,’ she retorted, but with a diminution of the venom and fright in her voice.
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