Part 2 The next few weeks were a time of the very liveliest thought and growth for Ann Veronica. The white veil had fallen to the ground and Gerald retrieved it for her. I’m not Gerald, remember. Her hormones were raging stupidly. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. "Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her. That is why I am glad that she has gone to London. "That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blueskin. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois.
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