Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. This structure at once satisfied him as to where he stood. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. She was leaning over him and he smelled her like he had never smelled anyone before.
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