This at once thrilled her and worried her. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. They will say that it was murder.
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