Mr. She should have slapped him but she was in shock at her own thoughts of lust that arose. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. Ann Veronica found herself walking back down the Avenue that had just been the scene of her first proposal beside her aunt, and speculating for the first time in her life about that lady’s mental attitudes. I know there’s a sort of right in your impatience at the slowness of Progress. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's.
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