At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. He blushed, too, spiritually, as it were. ” He was not in the least surprised. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. And he had destroyed all this. Bon. She drew a long breath.
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