She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. It’s a thing I’ve unaccountably overlooked. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage. . Perhaps it was loneliness. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. We leave England to-night.
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