She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. God help me. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. You must have figured that out by now.
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