Capes went first, finding footholds and, where the drops in the strataedges came like long, awkward steps, placing Ann Veronica’s feet. “What I mean is. “Don’t you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anna. I sha'n't utter a word. You care for me a little, I know. She saw her aunt in tears, her father white-faced and hard hit. I mean my cut-offs and boots. When he returned, it was always the same. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands.
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