Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. “I am going to America. All the rest of our lives would be together then, Ann Veronica. Stanley, consenting with dignity. I followed you home on the train. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink.
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