She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. Think of those days in Paris. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. “And besides,” said Ann Veronica, sweeping that aspect aside, “what could I do? A boy sails out into a trade or profession. Oh, I think I understand, Annabel. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence.
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