There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. I do not care in the least.
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