‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. He turned his back on that temptation. “You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. Directly he saw Anna he accosted her. She wanted to live. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Courtlaw rose to his feet. “Would they make her Queen?” She asked innocently. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question.
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