The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. “I thought we had discussed that, father. ‘Jacques?’ she called. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. These sisters moved in a grown-up world inaccessible to Ann Veronica’s sympathies, and to a large extent remote from her curiosity. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago. He was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann Veronica’s self-possessed answers. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth.
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