’ Miss Froxfield regarded him in some interest. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. Her recent attitude towards him was undoubtedly a pose. She too had seen. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. Why hadn't he admitted that he recognized the photograph? What instinct had impelled him swiftly to assume his Oriental mask? "Why?" asked O'Higgins. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel.
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