The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. “I wonder,” said Ann Veronica at last, “if I am beautiful? I wonder if I shall ever shine like a light, like a translucent goddess?— “I wonder— “I suppose girls and women have prayed for this, have come to this—In Babylon, in Nineveh. I cannot let you go. He had hurt her. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. Ann Veronica felt no repulsion at the prospect. It’s not far from twilight.
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