Again he rushed. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. ” Rhea whispered. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. She caught at the idea. When they came to the round-house, Terry's courage failed him.
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