They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. They thought that she was her own mother. “When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone.
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