In your heart you know quite well that all that you have said is useless. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. ” “Of course you don’t,” said Miss Miniver, gesticulating triumphantly with her thin hand and thinner wrist, and patting Ann Veronica’s knee. We must wave our hands at the blue hills far away there and go back to London and work. It was the moment for smiles. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter.
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