” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. Too much blood has been shed already. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine.
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