“The first person you love, Ann Veronica, is yourself—get hold of that! The soul you have to save is Ann Veronica’s soul. He jumped back, cursing. In addition to the various business men, solicitors, civil servants, and widow ladies who lived in the Morningside Park Avenue, there was a certain family of alien sympathies and artistic quality, the Widgetts, with which Ann Veronica had become very friendly. It’s no half reform either. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. Wood struck me a blow which made me a robber. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom. Nothing would stop her, and she was prepared to face the consequences. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. Instead, her husband was probably wise.
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