For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. ’ ‘Gracious heaven, Gerald! If your dear mama could not drag you to the altar, I am hardly likely to succeed. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. But you must tell her. I came to see you on my own account. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. Nuns, I mean.
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