“I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. mm. She found a clean sweatshirt and soft pajama pants, glad to trade the wet for the dry. But I tell you in return, I shall take no pains to hide myself. “And besides,” said Ann Veronica, sweeping that aspect aside, “what could I do? A boy sails out into a trade or profession. “I don’t mind, of course, your seeing her sometimes, still there are differences— differences in social atmospheres. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight.
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