Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. “Would they make her Queen?” She asked innocently. His eyes were closed. “On the stage? Yes. ” “Thank you, Jane. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do.
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