I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. Capes would come to these teas; he evidently liked to come, and he would appear in the doorway of the preparation-room, a pleasing note of shyness in his manner, hovering for an invitation. Look here. It was on the eve of that memorable rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in Scotland. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. No tricks would serve. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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