No doubt she was wondering what he had done in Charvill’s house and what he intended now. He kissed her ardently. Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. It isn’t pretty, but we’re made so. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. The Night-Cellar XVIII.
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