It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. 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. ’ ‘So I see.
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