"Can't be done," he said, "Lady Touchstone. We've got to work it out for ourselves."
"Curse your pride," said that lady. "There. Now I've sworn at you. But it's your own fault. And how are you two goats going to work it out for yourselves? With one of you bleating at Nice, and the other—Heaven knows where—in England? D'you go to church, Anthony Lyveden?"
"I used to."
"Then go again. Get to your knees and pray. Pray to be delivered from blindness of heart, Anthony Lyveden. D'you hear? Blindness of heart. From pride, vainglory and hypocrisy. Not that you're hypocritical, but they go together, and it'll do no harm. And I shall make Valerie go, and—and I shall pray for you both."
Anthony slid off his hat and put her hand to his lips….
As he did so, the car sped past a red lodge and into a curling drive.
Lady Touchstone sought for a pocket-handkerchief.
"There's a tear on my nose," she explained. "I can feel it. It's a real compliment, Anthony Lyveden. You're the very first man that's ever made Harriet Touchstone cry."
The car swept to the steps.
Anthony was down in a flash. Tenderly he handed her out….