The Victorians over-did it a little, I admit. ‘Didn’t mean it, love. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone. David Courtlaw. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill. . Every one turned to her in astonishment. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park.
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