“Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. Oblige me by acting under my guidance in the matter, Sir Rowland. They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection.
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