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“My word holds,” she said. I’m not Gerald, remember. She found she could do her microscope work all the better for being in love. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. The lad hesitated. . . But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out.
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