“His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. “He can’t be more than thirty. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. ” “All we shall get,” said Ann Veronica. Moments, indeed! We like each other fresh and fresh. It had been a trying day. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. Miss Miniver said that if once she lost her faith in Tolstoy’s sincerity, nothing she felt would really matter much any more, and she appealed to Ann Veronica whether she did not feel the same; and Mr. ‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love.
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