And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood. ‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. “What of her? Have you quarrelled with her?” The girl shook her head. They talked across their meal in an easy and friendly manner about Ann Veronica’s affairs. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. He kissed her fingers and grinned. She breathed deeply. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me.
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