Mr. ” Ann Veronica was silent for a while. And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. ” “Well?” Anna remarked calmly. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. ’ Of which Melusine was only too well aware, for her stepmother had done nothing to save her from the convent. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being.
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