Their houses became a refuge of ill repute, the source of rumor and intrigue in the highest echelons of society. 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. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. "Is there anything wrong with it?" "Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere.
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