She mentally reprimanded herself to alter her own visage so as not to appear depraved. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. Immediately he was gone, she regretted that she had not followed. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter.
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