She came to her one day and pulled on her apron. She HAD cried, Ann Veronica knew. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct.
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