“For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. That would not help her. He walked in her direction. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. Immortal! You were in the beginning, and all the men in the world who have known what love is have worshipped at your feet. ” “Oh, you are strong and brave,” Annabel murmured.
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