Then Capes’ footsteps approached. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. You are NOT going to that ball!” Ann Veronica tried a less genial, more dignified note. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. And he began also at times to wake at night and think about her. “Really?” “Would not let it go. Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion.
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