Anna failed in her painting, our money was gone, and she was forced to earn her own living. “But that’s quite different,” replied Anna. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him. All I had to do was to piece them together.
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