Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. “Anna! Thank God I have found you at last. Then he did give way a bit. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. Here one might live the life of golden days. I heard from David about you only this morning. ” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. “No! My father.
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