The well of tears in her eyes was dry. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey. Ann Veronica was in their very forefront. . Then she turned, and entering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street. I know now what it is to be an abandoned female. The doctor expected her to seize upon the subtle inference that there was something furtive, even criminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation upon humanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. It was not possible. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning.
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