‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. Hearl on HounslowHeath. Lots of us are like that. It is safe. He cherished her. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. Never in this world! Let the hotel people take care of him; it's their affair.
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