“I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. People spoke of him everywhere as a young man of great promise, a politician by instinct, a keen and careful judge of character. You can’t go. The thought of beauty became an obsession. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. It came to Ann Veronica one night after a long talk with Miss Miniver, as a sudden remarkable thing, as a grotesque, novel aspect, that this slowly elaborating biological scheme had something more than an academic interest for herself. What you would look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no more ado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerk in a shop.
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