“Very well,” he said. Some one was standing beside him. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. ’ ‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’ ‘Well, yes, miss. "You were saying—?" "I started to say something; that is all. “You shall,” she said.
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