I shall still believe in you. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. He turned to her and pinned her against the headrest with his kisses. “And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to her father and— which was easier—to the Widgetts. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth.
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