I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. But suppose I go?” “Now, Veronica! No, no. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. What would he come as? Presently she roused herself with a guilty start from the task of dressing and re-dressing Mr. Come on. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth.
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