Wild is incapable of such baseness. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. He saw what he had done only as it related to Ruth. Though I’ll wager she used this passage, and we certainly ought to investigate it. ‘I think you know my affianced husband. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas.
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