What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. Ann Veronica snatched at the opportunity, and spent most of the intervening time in the Assyrian Court of the British Museum, reading and thinking over a little book upon the feminist movement the tired woman had made her buy. “I didn’t understand, Vee. I let him take me to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. I don’t know anyone.
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