“Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. ’ ‘How dare you?’ roared the general. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. She had been so young then. They were filthy after the burial. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection.
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