The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The day is already half over. “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. “Dear friend,” she said, “do you not think that you are breaking an unspoken compact? I am very sorry. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy.
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