One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. If he hasn't a job for you, he'll know someone who has. Look somewhere else in life. It is customary even where an agreement is drawn. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it.
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