“The first person you love, Ann Veronica, is yourself—get hold of that! The soul you have to save is Ann Veronica’s soul. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. ‘Because,’ said Lady Bicknacre in the confidential manner of all matrons when passing on a tidbit of scandal, ‘Nicholas married against his father’s wishes and ran away. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. But if only you will come I do not care. ’ She counted off on her fingers. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. “I wonder what happened. But I give you this warning, and let it sink in.
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