Dunstable’s contributions to the conversation were entirely in the form of nods; whenever Alderman Dunstable praised or blamed she nodded twice or thrice, according to the requirements of his emphasis. And you shall have a share of the gold for yourself. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created.
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