" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Goodbye. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. ‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary.
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