‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. “I have a message from your sister. She leaned back in her chair. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. She’s right upstairs. All this was the work of a minute. “I’ll get a towel. "I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan.
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