Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever. John Sheppard. McClintock will be tuning up the piano to-day. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. 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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