Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate. Ann Veronica had a number of fragmentary impressions of Alice strangely transfigured in bridal raiment. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. Ann Veronica tried to keep hold of a complicated situation and not lose her head.
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