“I hope you are going to Carey House. Ann Veronica blushed. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. "I'm dumb. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically.
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