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She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. She aimed directly at Rhea’s head. Her aunt had a once exasperating habit of interrupting her work with demands for small household services, but now Ann Veronica rendered them with a queer readiness of anticipatory propitiation. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. Oh God! pardon me. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not help wondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. “I am sorry for the way I acted, Lucy. “I say, Vee. ” “You know,” he said with some hesitation, “that your sister is singing. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. 9.
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