She was introduced, perhaps a little too obviously for her taste, as a girl who was standing out against her people, to a gathering that consisted of a very old lady with an extremely wrinkled skin and a deep voice who was wearing what appeared to Ann Veronica’s inexperienced eye to be an antimacassar upon her head, a shy, blond young man with a narrow forehead and glasses, two undistinguished women in plain skirts and blouses, and a middle-aged couple, very fat and alike in black, Mr. You know—I worship you. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. ‘Anyhow, never mind that now. “So you’d best open your coffers. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. “How did you find me?” She asked.
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