“I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. Biology is an extraordinarily digestive science. “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. A conviction that her sister’s words were true had from the first possessed her. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. She did not think Ann Veronica would do as her companion. .
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