He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. ” Sydney looked at her doubtfully. No great lover of state or state costume at any time, he was generally, towards the close of an evening, completely in dishabille, and in this condition he now presented himself to his subjects. ‘Laisse-moi.
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