The one problem was that it didn’t fly. " Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. The rich, heavy food sat in her stomach like so many soft pebbles. She took his hand in hers. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. "But if it is your mother, send her about her business. But you don’t particularly want to do the job that sets you free—for its own sake. I’m not discussing Shakespeare. “This is what comes of being a young woman up to date. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket.
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