“Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write. This vile hovering to catch a man’s eye!. It would be the wrappered world almost at its best. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. But over against the world Miss Miniver assembled a small but energetic minority, the Children of Light—people she described as “being in the van,” or “altogether in the van,” about whom Ann Veronica’s mind was disposed to be more sceptical. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. Consternation gripped him. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course. In a moment they were in the street outside.
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