” “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice. ” Some one hidden from Ann Veronica appeared to be marshalling the assembly. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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