” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. Having no more patience, I drew you aside to give you a compliment on your radiant beauty. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how. That’s— that’s my private life. I’m not to study, I’m not to grow. That is good. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. The Chapel. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult.
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