“Hello!” said Ann Veronica, with arms akimbo and a careless, breathless manner. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. Her brown curls were pulled tight in a severe chignon. I haven’t taken much account of it until now. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. Why doesn’t she marry? Plenty of money under her father’s will. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks.
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