Let him be sure. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. “I think she would,” she decided. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. Let me go, Sir. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. “I’m not nearly so sure as you. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. Yet, stay! There is one thing I wish you to do. Pierre.
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