You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. John said nothing. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. Hers were less noble, yet stately. Upon this grateful animal she lavished that affection which was subtly repelled by its lawful object. ‘Never mind that now.
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