The little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. The characters of the youthful occupants of the room might be detected in every article it contained. Even now she was dazed. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. Worse than any man. "You want me, then?" she said.
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