” “Bring me a whisky and soda, and a box of cigarettes,” Ennison answered, “and then leave me alone, there’s a good fellow. Mike seemed visibly happier at her remark. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. Why should you who are queens come down from your thrones? If you can afford it, WE can’t. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. . . Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.
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