“You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. She felt that she had passed a difficult corner, and that now she could go on talking with him again, just as she had been used to do before she understood what was the matter with her. He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. Such a time that it takes for them to go. He had taken it back. It is always on his person.
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