Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute or so. Her wedding gown! She wondered if the spirit of the unknown mother looked down upon her. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. “You are one of the Hampshire Pellissiers, I know, and your family are quite as good as ours. I don’t suppose a girl can tell if a man is in love with her or not in love with her. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked. “You do not even know what you are talking about.
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