“I don’t believe there is one. ’ She tossed her head. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “That’s it,” she said. A day will come when you will thank me. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion.
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