Then she went in and up-stairs, hesitated on the landing, and finally, a little breathless and with an air of great dignity, opened the door and walked into Ann Veronica’s room. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar.
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