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There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. Would to God I had. ’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. He had something across his knees. That Frenchie, that’s who she is. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Their conversation hung. It was a beautiful place that she had found, a round cave by a small stream.
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