” “It is,” Annabel answered shortly. ‘Very well, never mind. ” She looked at him doubtfully. He was manifestly exerting his mind for her, and she found herself fully disposed to justify his interest. “What was that?” she asked sharply. “I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. Love lives on a higher plane. There are so many things I want to tell you, and they stand on such different levels, that the effect is necessarily confusing and discordant, and I find myself doubting if I am really giving you the thread of emotion that should run through all this letter. It’s just that I want to say. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames.
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