Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. Warren’s Profession furtively with Hetty Widgett from the gallery of a Stage Society performance one Monday afternoon. It was better even than the hymn-singing. The flight. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. "I should be perfectly miserable if I thought you in earnest. It ought never to have begun.
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