Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. Goopes, she was sure was always high-browed and slow and Socratic. Ann Veronica decided that “hoydenish ragger” was the only phrase to express her. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. Knock on the partition if you want anything during the might. Her lips parted, but no words came. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. He paid the cab, and turned to follow her. “Mr. .
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