The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac.
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