Wild. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained.
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