Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. “Now she’s all hat and ideas,” he said, with an air of humor. A girl of fifteen or sixteen gave her a handbill that she regarded as a tract until she saw “Votes for Women” at the top. ” “I am afraid,” she said, preceding him down the narrow stairs, “that I am going to be too busy to have much time for gadding about. Very doubtful.
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