1. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. And I want you for myself—for my wife. He used a most awful word! Then he said, ‘It’s Ann Veronica gone to join her sister!’ ‘Gone!’ I said. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. Let us have no more of this humbug. There is nothing but your pride which stands between us. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love.
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