Anna, in her strange striking way, was radiantly beautiful. I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. She was to fall back amongst the ruck, a young woman of talent, content perhaps to earn a scanty living by painting Christmas cards, or teaching at a kindergarten. Before I sit down, I have a toast to propose, which I am sure will be received, as it deserves to be, with enthusiasm. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. I said I’d do anything.
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