"Eh-day! what's this?" cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. “In private. “Heavens!” exclaimed Ann Veronica, with extraordinary passion. For such of us as pretend to be wise—and we are but fools in a lesser degree—we know that humanity moves onward only by the impellant of fine dreams. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. They’re fairly intricate little things. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table. ‘Not here. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy.
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