At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. It was difficult to get right. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. Sheppard. "On my return, I found the window open, and the room vacant.
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