“I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. "That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her. The campaign’s a success. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. “There’s no delusions, so far as I know,” said Ann Veronica. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door.
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