“Yes. ” The tired woman shut her eyes tightly for a moment, and then looked with them at Ann Veronica. 148 “Sure. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. ” The wedding-breakfast was for Ann Veronica a spectacle of the unreal consuming the real; she liked that part very well, until she was carelessly served against her expressed wishes with mayonnaise. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Her aunt had a once exasperating habit of interrupting her work with demands for small household services, but now Ann Veronica rendered them with a queer readiness of anticipatory propitiation. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. ” Annabel looked at her with terrified eyes.
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