stare. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. I am shockingly poor. ’ ‘But tell,’ demanded Melusine impatiently. Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. She had been so busy with life that, for a vast gulf of time, as it seemed, she had given no thought to those ancient, imagined things of her childhood.
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