"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. “If I sit here,” he said, standing up before her abruptly, “I shall have to shout. " "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. ” It was, Ann Veronica felt, at once absurd and extraordinarily right. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. But come in, dear.
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