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This woman knows me—’ throwing the remark at Lucilla ‘—and that I am the daughter of Mary Remenham. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. So far, however, was this submission from producing the desired effect, that it seemed only to lend additional fuel to her displeasure. She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the great dining room. They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. This time you cannot. The church was crowded to excess by the numbers eager to witness the ceremony; and as soon as it was over the wedded pair were followed to the carriage, and the loudest benedictions uttered for their happiness.
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