Ann Veronica blushed. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. ‘Pitiful. ‘Will you let be?’ Instead she grasped his hand tighter. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. These were seated in an imperfect semicircle about a very copper-adorned fireplace, surmounted by a carved wood inscription: “DO IT NOW.
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