” “Will you remember me?” “Unfortunately. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. The feeling of last days grew stronger with her as their number diminished. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before.
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