He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said.
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