The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. “Parmesan—take it away!” He glanced at Ann Veronica’s face, and it seemed to him that she really was exceptionally radiant. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. She owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's.
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