She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. It was one of the most educational disillusionments in Ann Veronica’s career. His blood would be sweet with it. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. Die, indeed! We’re going to do work; we’re going to unfold about each other; we’re going to have children. Then Ann Veronica passed on toward the tea in the garden, which was dotted with the elite of Morningside Park society, and there she was pounced upon by Lady Palsworthy and given tea and led about. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study.
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