I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. Slowly a mirthless and very unpleasant smile dawned upon his face. 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. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. She feared he might take her tears as a sign of weakness. Yeah, I’m thirty-seven.
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