But Jonathan, fixing a terrible look upon him, cried. ‘Where is Gérard?’ ‘Out of town,’ Hilary said briefly. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. “Don’t fence with me,” Anna cried fiercely. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. . Or, if this goodlooking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go with him. I believe that the common report was that you and your sister had come to Paris to study painting.
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