They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. On one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, Anne, had been pinned over the portrait of William the Third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. Mama will be expecting me. ‘En tout cas, it is not up at all, but down. But this is a great lark, Ann Veronica! This turns life into a glorious adventure!” “Ah!” she cried in triumph.
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