Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. And then her pace slackened. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Gosse took a step or two towards the centre of the room. I never could. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said.
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