“But if you weren’t keen on the suffrage business, why on earth did you go to prison?” Ann Veronica reflected. A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. Remote little Ann Veronica! She would never know the heart of that child again! That child had loved fairy princes with velvet suits and golden locks, and she was in love with a real man named Capes, with little gleams of gold on his cheek and a pleasant voice and firm and shapely hands. It struck his forehead, splitting it, and brought him to his knees. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair.
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