For the present the desire to fly was gone. All at once her heart began to patter queerly. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. He would be so disappointed. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life.
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